Chuck vs the Virus
by OOHiMBLiND
Summary: There is a new enemy: the Pound, a huge threat to international terrorism. Chuck, with Intersect 2.0, is in constant danger, though he is adjusting well; Sarah and Casey rejoin him as their new assignment puts Chuck in the crossfire. Full summary inside.
1. Prologue: Eleven Guns

**Chuck vs. the Virus**

Summary:

Chuck faces new dangers when the bad guys decide to attack him in new and improved ways. Not only are they constantly trying to learn the identity of the intersect, but they incidentally target his loved ones in the process. What is going on with Chuck and Sarah? What is the secret behind the break up and why are there so many unanswered questions? Newly weds Ellie and Awesome face troubles when Awesome is forced to lie for Chuck, particularly when it comes to one incredible secret that only the two of them share. Chapter 1 picks up three months after the prologue.

Characters:

Main cast

Bryce Larkin is dead. Really.

* * *

/*Major differences, if and when there are any, and any author's notes will be put between these lines.*/

The intersect was not removed from Chuck's head, the cube was stolen before it could be used on the Fulcrum agents, but recovered without knowledge of Stephen's true intentions.

* * *

**Prologue – "Eleven Guns" **

Chuck dangled from the ceiling, legs flailing, heart beating wildly. He heard gun shots still echoing from all sides, the metallic ceiling was deafening, but his heart pounded so loudly in his ears the clanging rings barely registered at times.

With a manic gasp and a short, girlish scream, Chuck let go of the metal bars he had used to lower the majority of his body into the intersect room. He landed on the back of his feet and fell to his butt, skidding backwards across the floor. His ankle burned a little, but adrenaline seized his extremities and boosted him back to his feet.

The room was white and quiet, only faint sounds of the commotion outside could be heard. But there was another noise, and Chuck whipped around to see who was making it. A strange console caught his eye briefly, and the incurring flash let him know exactly what the machine was programmed to do. That was the machine that instigated the intersect program. That was the machine the men on the other side of the walls were after.

His eyes landed on the man laying on the ground by the door. A pool of blood had begun to form around him and he was gasping for air, his face as white as the wall he leaned against. Bryce Larkin careened his neck upward to look at Chuck, who stood frozen momentarily at the sight of Bryce.

But that moment passed quickly and Chuck rushed to his once-good friend's side.

"Bryce. Bryce! Oh my god, what happened? You've been shot!" Chuck knelt down by Bryce's side, clear of the blood pooling by his torso.

Bryce grimaced, holding one hand over his wound attempting to staunch the bleeding, the other holding himself weakly upright.

"Help me get my coat off," Bryce said, groaning through clenched teeth.

Chuck supported Bryce as he leaned forward, and carefully, though hurriedly, slipped the coat of the man's arms. Three bullets had clipped Bryce's right side, all bleeding and soaking his stale gray shirt. He groaned in pain, but took his coat from Chuck and began pressing it against his side.

"Casey and Sarah are outside, Bryce," said Chuck, helping put pressure on the wounds. "They're going to get you help and get us out of here. Don't give up, man. Stay alive. Come on, stay alive. We all need you. Sarah, Casey, the United States, we all do."

Bryce shook his head. "Chuck, these guys…these guys aren't Fulcrum. They're representing someone else entirely. Someone the CIA hasn't detected."

Chuck frowned. "What? How is that possible?"

Bryce clenched his jaw. "I don't know, man. But it means that they are even more dangerous and have access to the CIA." He looked up at Chuck again. "Chuck, you've got to destroy the intersect. You've got to keep it from…getting into their hands." He struggled for air, gasping intermittently.

"How do I do it? Tell me what to do," said Chuck, standing up.

"Go to the machine," said Bryce, slipping further down the wall without Chuck's support. "The screen will prompt you for a code."

Chuck raced to the monitor just a couple feet away. He touched the screen and, sure enough, a num pad-like diagram appeared on the screen. Bullets laced the door separating the gunmen outside from Bryce and Chuck. Chuck looked at the door, distracted, heart pounding even more fiercely.

"Chuck! Get your head in the game," said Bryce, unexpectedly loud. "It's time for you to be a spy, friend. I am not going to make it. Even if Casey and Sarah make it in here, I am not…not going to…"

"Give me the code!" Chuck said, firmly. He was ready. He could destroy it.

Bryce looked at the door, as though he were changing his mind. He hesitated a full five seconds. "Okay, " he said, closing his eyes. "3-9-5-5...4-4-1....1-6.........2."

Chuck repeated the numbers aloud as he punched them in. Nothing happened.

"Bryce! Nothing happened!" Chuck said, looking at the numbers on the screen. The cursor blinked, expecting more digits to be added. He looked at Bryce. Bryce was motionless, now completely limp on the floor. "No! Bryce! Wake up!" Chuck rushed back over to Bryce's side. He knelt down on the ground and shook the man. But there was no life in the body. Bryce was gone, really gone this time.

Chuck stood up, slightly disturbed but entirely too distracted to clearly define the emotional turmoil of witnessing the death of an old friend. There was a mission at hand. Bryce had died at the hand of an unknown enemy, one that was soon to breach the doors of the intersect room and claim the secrets of the government for an entity too dangerous to comprehend. He had to complete the mission. He had to be a real spy.

He flung himself lankily back to the console. He stared at the numbers on the screen, trying to determine a pattern, trying to understand the sequence of numbers.

"3-9-5-5…." Chuck said aloud. "395? 39? 39, 55?" The final repetition of the numbers hit a familiar bone and Chuck felt the intersect take over. Images of a high-level consulate building took over his mind, rushing with red and white colors of fiercest and purest patriotism. An American flag. An alliance. A location. Coordinates. He saw coordinates. 39 55' 44 N, 116 23' 18E. The coordinates of the building, the building of headquarters of some kind. And the flash was over. He blinked.

This was it. He could end this for them all, make the machine worthless. The cursor still blinked after the 2. Chuck hit 3-1-8.

The room instantly went dark. His heart slowed, an unnerving wave of panic spreading through him. Would it work? Was he too late? Did it detect the building was being put under siege? He stepped backward. As he did so, the pictures began. Hundreds upon thousands of images, filling in the blanks and adding to his immensely overloaded brain. The intersect was uploading into his brain! He could vaguely comprehend his annoyance with Bryce, and after a moment he could remember nothing but a life with one long, constant headache. Had it always been like this? Had this headache always been there? He could recall a moment or two where life was grand and easy, full of boredom and ignorance of a world that operated much separately from himself. The world was now operating inside his brain, making him privy to much more than anyone had bargained for.

When the pictures stopped abruptly, Chuck slumped to the ground, his knees hitting the tiled floor hard. He heard a crackling sound, a fizz extending from somewhere below him. He moved away from the console, watching it curiously. Before his eyes, something like blue static crawled through the walls and floors, weaving between the plates of what was undoubtedly the most extensive intelligence machine ever created. A moment later, the screen made a dull sucking sound, popped like a plunger being suctioned from a flat surface, and hissed steam out of every orifice.

It was now the deadest machine he had ever seen.

"He gave me the wrong code," Chuck said aloud. He looked over at Bryce's still lifeless body. "He gave me the code that would first download the information and then self-destruct." His chest heaved up and down. "Why the heck would he do that?"

He didn't have time to consider it further, because at that moment, the door keeping the bad guys out had blasted open and eight men, clothed in black and supporting heavy artillery rushed into the room, aiming and cocking their weapons at a very confused Chuck. Two more men followed in, pushing the handcuffed Sarah and Casey into the room with them. Finally, a man, tall and lean, brown hair and a thin face, entered the room, hands behind his back. He had to be in charge.

"What is going on in here? What did you do?" the man asked.

Chuck's eyes wandered to his handlers. Casey was giving him a wary look, Sarah's eyes were panicked and unsettled. Chuck blinked, then slowly let his eyes wander to Bryce.

"Bryce!" Sarah's eyes had followed his and she was now aware of the man on the floor. "Oh my…"

"Shut up, woman," said the man in charge. He motioned to two of the men currently pointing their guns at Chuck and signaled for them to remove the dead body. Sarah cursed and screamed incoherently at them, which only agitated the man further.

She looked at Chuck, her eyes now moist. He mouthed, "I'm so sorry."

Chuck looked back at the man in charge. "It's destroyed. The intersect is no more."

"What?" the man was enraged and pulled a gun from his back.

"You heard me," said Chuck, feeling bold in the face of death. "You. Lose."

The cock of the man's gun launched the flash that would change everything, change the course of Chuck's future, and was the one that would save them all. Involuntarily, the way to defeat eleven guns became practical, doable.

"Chuck…did you just flash?" Sarah called out. Next to her, Casey hushed her and she quelled, realizing her mistake.

The man in charge lowered his gun slightly and took a step forward. "No way," he said, looking closely at Chuck's face. "You uploaded the intersect? You?"

"I sure didn't mean to, I'll let you know that. I was all set to destroy it and keep it away from everyone because, come on, after living with that thing in my head for two years its given me serious social issues and I would never wish that upon another human being, but Bryce was dying and he couldn't do it himself so he began to give me the code…"

The man lifted his gun again to silence Chuck. This was clearly the wrong thing to do because Chuck knew exactly how to respond. A new smile spread across Chuck's face.

**************

Thanks for reading :)  
More to come soon.  
Olivia


	2. The Team

**Chuck vs. the Virus**

* * *

Three months later.

* * *

**Chapter 1: The Team**

[Chuck's Apartment – 8 P.M. Sunday Night]

When the doorbell rang, Chuck was sitting on the couch staring at a blank television. An empty bag of Doritos lay on the table upon which his feet were propped. The government-subsidized apartment he lived in now came equipped with a weekly supply of general condiments, among which he had specifically requested Doritos. No grocery shopping, no housekeeping. To any outsider, Chuck knew, this would seem like the ideal situation.

He glanced first at the camera focused on him, hidden from the eye of a novice, but he knew it was there, above the door of his apartment. Then he looked at the door, hoping, perhaps, that it might open on its own.

"Chuck, are you in there?" a voice called from outside. It was Ellie.

Chuck sighed, slightly relieved, and stood up. "Coming, sis," he said. She tried the handle, he could tell, but it was locked. He discreetly punched in a code on the num pad hidden within the brass below the nob, then unlocked the door.

Ellie held a bouquet of flowers, bright in color, like the leaves in fall. She was smiling broadly, though it seemed to waver after seeing Chuck's face. He knew that whatever his face looked like, it could do little to diminish her excitement that he'd taken the initiative to move on to the next stage of his life. She squealed, did a little happy dance, and he couldn't help but smile. They hugged and she pushed passed him, eager to see the inside of his apartment. The government had graciously found him something less than five miles away from her and Devon.

Behind Ellie, Devon crossed the threshold of Chuck's tenth floor apartment. He held a pan covered in tinfoil in both hands.

"Special Agent Carmichael," he whispered, leaning in close. When the CIA and NSA had first discovered Devon had been privy to Chuck's asset status, they were not happy. It had taken a lot of coaxing to reassure upper level government operatives that Devon did not pose a threat and, perhaps, even helped Chuck's cover in Burbank.

"Captain," said Chuck, bowing slightly.

"Ellie made you a hot dish, bro," he said. "I'll put it in the freezer."

"Thanks," said Chuck. He slapped Awesome on the back and followed him back into the apartment.

Ellie walked back down the hall, from where she had probably been exploring the rooms of the semi-impressive apartment. Both hands were clasped over her mouth and her eyes were nearly red with emotion.

"Chuck, this is amazing! Oh my gosh, I am so thrilled for you. Do you like it? Are you adjusting?" she asked.

"Yeah, I really enjoy it. It's close to work and it's close to you guys," said Chuck. "It's amazing how quiet it gets though." He smiled. "That is definitely one thing I miss about living with you guys."

Ellie waved her hand dismissively. "Come on, Chuck. We loved having you there, but there are certain things we need to do as adults to take control. It won't be this quiet all the time." She looked away, then, and Chuck knew what she was refraining from asking, or mentioning. He appreciated that.

"So, we know it's late, dude, but we thought we had to christen your new digs with a viewing of the Matrix," said Awesome. "You in?"

"Definitely, yeah," said Chuck, moving towards the kitchen. "I'll make some popcorn. You guys need a beer? Soda?"

"Whatever you've got, Chuck," said Devon. He went and sat on the couch.

Ellie followed Chuck into the kitchen. "How is your new job?" she asked. "Is it a relief to be done with the Buy More?"

Chuck nodded enthusiastically. Finally, something he wouldn't have to lie about. At least, not entirely. "More than you can even imagine," he said. "When I wake up in the morning, it's no longer like, 'Gaah, I have to deal with crazies and lunatics.' I love having a change of pace and knowing that I'm making a difference….in the software industry."

Since returning to Burbank, after three months intensive spy training, Chuck was to become a part of a new facility, a new operation, and a new team. His cover was a senior software developer for corporate businesses. Ellie had yet to tour that location, and Chuck was a little wary that it would seem beyond the realm of possibility of what he was capable of. Ellie had always told him he could do whatever he put his mind to, and he knew that when it came down to it, he was competent in most things computer-related, but it didn't dispel the fact he felt out of place, awkward, and too much like an adult.

"Chuck, I cannot tell you how proud I am of you. Has dad been by yet?" Ellie asked.

Chuck had just set the popcorn maker, so he raised his voice to match the new screeches of the machine behind him. "Yes, actually, he was here for a couple hours yesterday. I think he finds his apartment quiet, too."

Ellie rolled her eyes. "You're telling me. He's been at our place at least three times a week since we got back from our honeymoon. Well, at least we can say you are your father's son." Chuck grinned, Ellie had no idea how true that statement was. She cleared her throat, looking away. "Have you heard from…Morgan?" she asked. Her hesitation made him wonder if she was actually asking about Morgan, or if she had changed her mind in the last moment.

"I have. We played Call of Duty for five hours last night," said Chuck, pretending to whip guns out of his sweatpants.

"Morgan was here last night?" asked Ellie. "He came back?"

"No, no," said Chuck, his grin fading. "We played over the internet." As many hesitations as Ellie had about his underachieving best friend, Morgan had not only proved to be a devoted and reliable friend, but seemed to have an exceptional aptitude for the Benihana training program in Hawaii. He and Anna were living Honolulu while he trained.

"Oh," Ellie's face softened, most likely at the sight of Chuck's look of missing his best friend. He smiled again and she knew it was safe to proceed. She cleared her throat. "So, any other…people you've heard from?"

Chuck stared at Ellie for a moment. Wondering what he should say, how he could explain his time away. He had always been so open about his feelings, considering Sarah, even when their relationship had been a cover. But spy training had changed him, some, and he was less willing to talk about the things that meant most to him.

Ellie stood up straight and breathed in deeply. "You aren't ready to talk about it yet. I understand." She walked around the partition separating them. "But, Chuck, whatever happened there, with you and Sarah, it's not the end. You guys seem so perfect for each other. I know it's probably hard to think about reconciliation at this stage, but believe me, if you don't want it to be over, it doesn't have to be."

Chuck smiled, half-heartedly. "It's kind of a two-way street, Elle." He turned to unplug the popcorn popper and flip it over. "I can't make her love me."

* * *

Kenlo Industries, the name of the software company of Chuck's cover, employed fifty non-governmental personnel to run the floors. They were secretaries, researchers, security guards, salesmen, and recruiters.

"We needed people who didn't look like cops," said John Casey, the first day they were introduced to the facility. "We wanted a secure facility, but we needed to keep it from being detected by posing threats."

"The security guards look like cops," Chuck had said.

"They are, technically, cops, numb nuts," said Casey, gruffly. "But they aren't agents. Big difference. Terrorists know the difference."

On the main floor of the four-story complex, Kenlo Industries had a large space devoted to the display and demonstration of various software. Only two people on the sales floor were agents. It had only been a week since briefing had begun on the new Burbank assignment, but Chuck felt as though he was getting better at identifying who the governmental personnel were.

Monday morning marked Chuck's first full week at the Amulet, the name of the government base within Kenlo Industries. John Casey picked him up in front of his apartment complex and drove them to the facility, only eight miles away. It was a narrow building, squeezed between a retail store and a parking garage. The parking garage only connected to the Amulet underground, because the government had made it so. The four levels of parking above ground were intended for Kenlo employees and the building on the opposite side, which was a three-story library.

Casey didn't say much on the ride over, not that he ever did. Lately, since Sarah had been absent, Casey had been more tolerant of Chuck. Chuck wasn't sure if that meant he himself was a more annoying person while around Sarah, or if Casey was extending grace due to the highly publicized breakup between Chuck and Sarah.

"_We understand the implications involved, sir." Sarah spoke up for the first time during the hearing. Chuck's spy training was coming to an end, but there were several things standing in his way, one of which the government was hard pressed to remove before it caused liabilities._

"_The CIA does not believe that you do understand, Agent Walker," said Agent Warren Brooks, the correspondent assigned to the Burbank division. He had been working alongside General Beckman to secure the facility Chuck, Sarah, and Casey would return to with dozens of other agents. "Based on the performances by you and your team, there are serious considerations as to whether you are more committed to your partners," said Agent Brooks, pointedly, glancing from Sarah to Chuck, "than to the United States of America. The relationship you two have outside of the CIA has caused enough of a gray area that the whole puzzle is turning gray."_

_Chuck stepped forward, seizing on a moment of ignorant bravery. "With all due respect, sir, after the last two years, we are all very aware of the kinds of sacrifices we need to make, individually and as a team, myself more than anyone. You cannot say that Agent Walker's performance has suffered in any way since protecting me as a government asset, can you?"_

_Agent Brook grunted in disagreement. "Clearly, Mr. Bartowski, you have yet to think like a spy, like an agent of the CIA. When it comes to serving your country, you cannot allow yourself the need to make sacrifices. In order for a person to make a sacrifice, a situation must exist in which protocol is considered to be broken."_

"_Sir, can you please make it clear what you are implying?" asked Sarah, pulling Chuck back into line beside her. She seemed calmer, now, now that he had spoken. But something in her face was deathly disquieting to him. He didn't like it._

_Agent Brook looked at the two officials sitting next to him. On his right was Lieutenant Kevin Garfield, a retired military man now assisting with internal affairs at Langley, and on his right was a psychoanalyst assigned to monitor and evaluate Chuck throughout his training._

"_Mr. Bartowski, because Bryce Larkin broke protocol on more than one occasion, you have been forced into a very tight predicament. Although we cannot control what form the intersect takes, we can control the environment regardless. We are already making arrangements for you in Burbank, California, but as it pertains to your partners, Agent Sarah Walker and Colonel John Casey, there are things yet to be decided." He sat back in his chair and folded his hands across his chest. "We now ask you to leave so that we might speak with your handlers alone."_

_Chuck looked at Sarah. She didn't look back. He knew what they were going to ask, and it was not going to fare well for him. For them. At one point in their relationship, Sarah might have chosen him over the job, but that was when they both had a chance to get out of the business. Would she still choose him if it meant only she was out of a job?_

There wasn't a soul at Harlington Base in D.C., where Chuck had trained, that didn't know Agent Sarah Walker was being assigned elsewhere. The instructions were clear: job, or no job? And how could Chuck really blame her? When a woman was as talented and effective as Sarah Walker, how could she just walk away from her job?

She didn't, and that was that. And even though Chuck knew there were many more reasons Sarah had chosen the job over him, he still couldn't help but brood over all that he'd lost in Sarah. He'd lost a part of himself.

"You're quiet this morning," said Casey, glancing only slightly at Chuck through the corner of his eye. They were stopped at a light. "Not that I'm complaining…" he said, looking as though he regretted saying anything.

Chuck shrugged. "You tend to hurt my feelings less when I don't talk."

Casey grunted, a smirk tugged at his lip. "Well said. At least you're learning."

Chuck didn't feel like getting his feelings hurt that morning. "I was wondering about something, though."

"Here we go…" Casey rolled his eyes, obviously expecting the worse.

Chuck gave him an odd look. "Um, all I was wondering was if there are other government agents in my building besides Agent Morris, the one right next to me."

Casey looked over at him, unable to hide his surprise. "There is one set of agents on every floor, directly under you. They rotate. All from the Amulet."

"And you, of course," said Chuck.

"And me, of course," Casey confirmed.

"If my sister ever comes to visit me at the Amulet, will there be more to the cover story I need to know? Like why you, my co-worker at Buy More, has followed me to…"

"Kenlo Industries?" Casey finished. "Who's to say you didn't follow me?"

Chuck nodded. "Good point, maybe that's a better idea. We went job hunting together since we quit the Buy More at the same time. Kenlo loved our experience working with the _common customer_…I'm sold." Casey grunted again and mumbled something Chuck couldn't quite distinguish.

He pulled into the parking garage adjacent to Kenlo Industries, already filling up quickly, and covertly drove to the underground ramp. The end of the ramp appeared to be a brick wall, but Chuck knew from the last week that the wall lifted to form a passageway to the government-employees only garage. Casey swiped his badge through an old, yellow ticket machine, which had been made to look dysfunctional, and the wall disappeared into the ceiling.

"I will never get used to this," said Chuck, watching the wall lower once again to the ground in his side view mirror.

Casey parked and the two men got out of the car. "Have you flashed on anything in the last couple days?" Casey asked.

Chuck shook his head. "No. Nothing. Not on the news, not at Kenlo."

"You haven't left your apartment," said Casey. It wasn't a question, it was a statement. Casey, though living a block away, still monitored Chuck's activity. The agent next door to him was there only as a security guard to ensure Chuck's immediate safety. Casey, as he always had been, was privy to much more of the picture. While Chuck tended to get himself into trouble by simply breathing, he also tended to flash at unexpected moments. It was Casey's responsibility to manage the information that Chuck regurgitated.

They stood in front of the elevator doors that led into the Amulet, which vaguely resembled the Castle, but with much more equipment and many more analysts. Of all sixty government personnel, only twelve people were agents. While Chuck adjusted to his new abilities and the intersect in general, these agents were to be his backup. The government was wary and reluctant to trust Chuck with the intersect alone, which he knew and often resented.

A blue screen appeared on the elevator doors, performed a full body scan, flashed some identifying confirmations of the men's identity, and opened the doors.

"Well, this should be a fun day," said Casey. Chuck worried about the tone in the man's voice. Even though everything Casey said could sound like he was being sarcastic, mean, and unpleasant to anyone who didn't work so closely with him, Chuck had begun to detect the differences in his voice. This tone meant Casey knew something Chuck didn't.

"Why do you say that?" asked Chuck.

"We get our new partner today," said Casey. "Weren't you paying attention on Saturday?"

"I was," said Chuck. "I just forgot." He shrugged. "When there are twelve people here for backup, I don't get why we need another person on our team. Right, buddy? We're just so effective as a two-man team!"

Casey frowned, not liking the details Chuck had just outlined. He had always been reluctant to consider Chuck part of the team. Now that Chuck had some interesting Kung-Fu techniques and decent gun-handling skills, Casey found it hard to altogether exclude him.

"None of the agents here are trained as field agents, which is to say, AAA."

"AAA?" Chuck asked.

"Agents Allowed Aliases," Casey clarified. "At least that's what the NSA calls 'em."

"I was Carmichael for two years, untrained," said Chuck.

"And see all the good that did us? You botched almost every mission," he said, gruffly. "All the agents here are either snipers, body guards, or people who are good at being invisible."

Chuck fell silent. He didn't want another partner.

"Colonel Casey," said a man, standing at attention as the men walked past. He saluted to Casey. "Special Agent Bartowski."

"Morning, Fizz," said Chuck.

"Why do you call him that? You have to start addressing people professionally if you want to gain any respect around here. Or even call yourself a spy," said Casey, annoyed.

Chuck bowed to Fizz, the twenty-five year old analyst. "My apologies, Mr. Fissle." Fizz nodded at him, never before having been offended by Chuck's casual greeting.

"General Beckman is awaiting you via conference call in 22B, and Agent Brook is currently with the new agent in his office," said Fizz. "Agent Brook will join you momentarily with the agent, but asks that you proceed to 22B and take General Beckman's call."

Casey saluted. "Thank you."

"General Beckman has been pretty quiet these last couple days," said Chuck. "Has she been cooking up a bunch of new missions, or is that just the way things are sometimes."

"The way I heard it," said Casey, leading the way to 22B, "is that they didn't want to give us any assignments until we acquired another member to our team. Even though I am fully qualified to keep you safe, I can't keep you safe and keep you out of the way and accomplish a mission at the same time. You are an infant. You need constant supervision."

"Thanks, Case. I really appreciate that," said Chuck, disheartened.

Casey opened the door to 22B. It was a large room with a screen on the far wall. Several computers were set up in the middle, as was a large desk, several chairs, and along the walls more screens. Casey moved right to the middle of the room, hit a button, and General Beckman appeared on the screen.

"Oh, good, you're in," said Beckman. "We have a lot to do today, so we need to get moving. Where is Agent Brook?"

"He's joining us shortly," said Casey.

"As is our new partner," said Chuck, trying to look enthusiastic, without feeling any enthusiasm.

Casey turned his head away from the screen and looked at Chuck. "Let's hope you don't fall in love with this one."

As he said it, the doors opened and Agent Brook walked in. "This may come as a surprise, it may not," said the agent, "but the agency has had time to reconsider its decision."

And then Sarah stepped into the room. Chuck inhaled sharply, his heart thudding. She looked at him with her blazing dark bronze eyes; skeptical, apprehensive, stagnate. She locked eyes with him for a full three seconds, then moved her gaze to Casey, nodding politely. Chuck heard Casey chuckle quietly.

"What's going on?" Chuck finally asked, finding his voice.

General Beckman cleared her throat. "In the process of finding Agent Walker's replacement, it became clear the sheer amount of information, training, and preparation that would go into ensuring your new handler would be equipped to...handle you."

Agent Brook turned to face Chuck. "Certain analysts assigned to this case have determined since your hearing a month ago that the acquisitions rate of your three-person team is among the top three percent of all government operations. Not to mention the civilian casualty rate is not only the lowest of all operations, but you've actually managed to rescue and spare lives, unbeknownst to innocent civilians."

Chuck turned his head and looked at Casey, who looked as bemused as Chuck felt. Without looking at Sarah, Chuck turned to face the screen General Beckman appeared on.

"Agent Bartowski, in light of recent events, we must pass over the general introductions and explanations," said General Beckman. "Tomorrow night is your first mission with your new intersect."

"Yeah, you know, I've been wondering about that," said Chuck, almost too distracted by General Beckman's use of his new title—_Agent_ Bartowski. "How many people know about…." He pointed as his head suggestively.

"Only the people in this room," said Agent Brook. "Everyone here assumes you are training to become a field agent due to your intricate knowledge of computers and your father's affiliation with the CIA."

Chuck couldn't say that made him feel very confident, the idea that nepotism had secured his position at the CIA, but it was better than a slew of people knowing that a rather incompetent spy, which he admitted himself, was himself the bearer of all secrets between the CIA and NSA. In today's environment, both politically and socially, just about anyone could be working for the elusive _bad guys_.

"We have gone to extreme lengths to contain this information," said General Beckman. "It would be wise for you to keep that in mind and continue along the same path of _not_ giving it away. Agent Walker and Colonel Casey will do their best, but having not been properly trained before getting involved with this line of work, there are certain…"

"Yeah, I get it," said Chuck. "I'm a liability because I'm not a pro. I understand." He was beginning to resent this fact. Throughout training, though he had performed perfectly when his flashes gave him the proper instructions in combat, he was less effective when learning to handle weapons without flashes. From the corner of his eye he saw Sarah lower her head. Casey grunted in agreement behind him.

"Moving on," said General Beckman. "The most notorious diamond smugglers in Russia are looking to change their game. Since the New Year, they've taken it upon themselves to use their connections to move illegal weapons into terrorists' hands. It has given them leverage and access to locations that worry high-level NSA analysts, particularly when it comes to associates with domestic U.S. companies."

"The first mission is simple," said Agent Brook. "You must infiltrate the party, plant bugs throughout the consulate, and tag as many internal members as possible."

"The head of this ring of smugglers is the only living descendant of Commander Leon Trotsky," said General Beckman. "If you aren't familiar with your history, he was second in command to Vladimir Lenin during the October Revolution. A Bolshevik. A Marxist, but a rebel."

A picture appeared on the screen. A beautiful woman with long brown hair, a chiseled, wide jaw, full pink lips, and dark eyes. Chuck felt his eyes roll back slightly and prepared for a flash. Pictures of licenses, passports, aliases; a family picture; bloody bodies lying across a street; a fire; buildings torched and falling to the ground; diamonds of all shapes and sizes.

When his eyes focused again, Chuck spat out everything he'd just learned. "Irina Kopp, formerly Irina Sedov. Personally broke into the Turkish Museum of Natural History and stole three diamonds from three different ends of the building; killing three men and injuring twelve before the alarm had even picked up on her presence. Killed her first husband in 1994. One child, whereabouts unknown. Considered dangerous and lethal, currently ranked seventeenth on the CIA's Most Wanted."

"While Agent Walker plants the bugs within the consulate, it is your job, Bartowski, to get close to Irina Kopp. Intrigue her, get her to introduce you to her affiliates," said Agent Brook. "And by whatever means necessary, give Agent Walker enough time to plant the bugs."

Chuck gulped. He hated it when anyone used the phrase, "by whatever means necessary." It usually meant something he was incapable of, like being coy or charming or seductive.

"You can speak Russian, can't you?" asked General Beckman.

Chuck's eyes rolled back and he felt the familiar flash take effect. He spoke in Russian.

"We'll take that as a yes," said Casey, chuckling.

"Before your flight leaves this evening, Agent Bartowski, you must complete another training session," said Agent Brook. "Your partners will meet up with you when it is complete and you will be off the ground by 2000 hours. In the air, they will brief you further on your mission."

"Yes," said Chuck, gulping. "Yes, sir." On his way out the door, Chuck dared to look at Sarah, his face turned away from the others, hers still in plain view. With the brief glimpse he caught, he tried to read whatever it was she was letting him see. But he'd never seen that look on her before. Her jaw was set, like she was thinking, or chewing on the inside of her mouth. Her eyes followed him the whole way out of the room until the doors closed behind him.

* * *

"Did they give you any warning?" asked Casey as he and Sarah walked out of 22B.

"Yes," she said. "I've known for about two weeks."

"Did they ask you to return?"

"No." Sarah looked away. "General Beckman made me read the report furnished by the analyst and the psychologist who studied Chuck during his training. It is obvious that Chuck is hard to work with, but with the volume of information and experience you and I have had over the last two years in regards to how he operates…well, if I were to quote the report, 'It is clear after further analysis that the asset Chuck Irving Bartowski is a liability to those whom he does not trust. Training another agent to not only understand how the asset operates, but provide the level of emotional stability required, would be counterproductive.'"

"Emotional stability?" Casey asked.

"Word for word," said Sarah. She cleared her throat. "How is he doing?"

"Bartowski? He's showing a little promise. He can shoot a trank now without fainting," Casey chuckled.

They stopped at the end of the hallway. Casey looked over Sarah's head and nodded to their left. She looked around him and saw the one-way mirror sectioning off Chuck's personal training room.

"Last week, General Beckman ordered that Chuck was to train against a machine. It is technically a two-dimensional hologram stationary in the middle of the room, but the glasses Chuck wears are designed to make it three-dimensional. He was injuring some of the men, after you left Harlington, and not enough people could provide him with the level of practice he required."

Sarah walked to the window, watching Chuck carefully. He swung his legs, jumped, kicked, and punched flawlessly; like a choreographed dance. At one point he stepped backward and his whole head seemed to fly back, as though he had been punched.

"Oh," said Casey, standing next to her, "and it kicks back, too."

"Is he safe in there?" asked Sarah.

"Come on, Walker. This isn't about his safety, it's about preparing him for combat. How can he be prepared if he's safe?" asked Casey. When she didn't respond, he grunted. "The machine hasn't been able to beat him yet." And, under his breath, so low Sarah figured he might have actually wanted her to hear it, he said, "Which of course will all change now that you're back."


	3. The Pound

**Chuck vs. the Virus**

* * *

AN: How about that season premiere tonight, eh? Good stuff. Man, I cannot wait for an awesome season.

Thanks for the reviews. Much appreciated.

* * *

**Chapter 2: The Pound**

At 32,000 feet, the Russian Tupolev Tu-154 emitted only a faint hum in the first-class cabin. To his right and four rows behind him, Sarah sat inconspicuously apart from him; to his left and one row ahead, Casey flipped through a biography of Ronald Reagan. The only passengers in first-class were CIA agents, two of whom Chuck recognized, one new.

They'd been in the air for about two hours, somewhere over the Pacific Ocean, with nine hours to go. Chuck had intended to read over the manual he'd been given following his training session today on covert ops, but he could only seem to sit and stare at the seat in front of him. He'd been prone to sitting and staring for several days now. The same questions always swarmed through his mind: how did he get to this point? Where had it gone wrong?

He'd always been brought back to the same conclusion: Bryce Larkin. Many times over the last three months Chuck had replayed the scene in the intersect room with Bryce; each time he wondered why he hadn't considered the possibility that Bryce might pass the intersect onto him once again. Of course he knew there was nothing he could do about it now, but it frustrated him to no end.

And then there was Sarah to think about. He'd been doing a good job of _not_ thinking about her, lately, trying to focus on his new job, his new position with the CIA. She had been very quiet the last hours at the Amulet. When Chuck had asked where they were flying to, out of pure curiosity, she had looked up at him and said, "Moscow," like it was the most obvious answer in the world. Her attitude, or maybe just his perception of her attitude, was causing him great confusion.

It didn't help matters that the CIA didn't have a lot of confidence in him, but he knew that he was surprising them nonetheless. It was the undercover part he always blew, but not anymore; not now that he knew he would be able to fend for himself. He had raised himself to deal with bullies in the most unthreatening way. It was no fun for the bigger kid if the smaller kid just surrendered, or let him have the upper hand without a fuss. He hadn't been a threat before when it came to the proverbial bad guy; now not only was he a threat, but he had tricks up his sleeve that Casey and Sarah didn't. He tried to take pride in that, but it only seemed to make things worse.

What he knew about the mission so far was the cover story for each operative going. Casey was working at the Consulate as an American representative for a large law firm, whose CEOs had close ties with non-lethal Russians, of whom the diamond smugglers were very keen to acquire as allies. Sarah was visiting an aunt in Moscow. The other agents were businessmen. Chuck was an entrepreneur of the wealthy sort, successful, charming, and very intelligent.

Right.

They were all to enter the country separately, as three strangers all coincidentally going to the same place. At least this time he didn't have to worry about some Russian oil cat moving his hands all over the woman he was in love with.

A flight attendant appeared at his side and he looked up, vaguely aware of the change from the pattern on the back of his seat to the face of the moderately good-looking stewardess. But he was used to looking at Sarah, to whom he compared all other faces, and in respect her face did not register.

"Sir?" said the stewardess, in a thick Russian accent, "the woman behind you would like to know if she can buy you a drink. And if so, would you join her?"

Chuck tilted his head to the right, as though he was going to look back at Sarah, but then decided against it. "I would be delighted," he said, letting Agent Carmichael smile for him. In Russian he added, "Wine, for myself and the lady?"

"Yes, sir," the stewardess responded in Russian, her smile brightening. She went to retrieve the drinks.

Chuck unbuckled and stood up. Casey turned his head, trying to disguise his curiosity. Chuck nodded politely, as though to a total stranger, and made his way back to Sarah. Sarah moved from the hallway seat to the window seat, allowing Chuck to sit down. She put out her hand, and, courteously, he shook it.

"Sarah," she said. Her eyes darted to the curtain where the stewardess was coming out of with a tray of wine.

"Carmichael," said Chuck. "Charles Carmichael." He buckled his seatbelt and glanced at the papers Sarah had put on the tray in front of her. There was a file with a picture on it. His eyes fluttered and he felt his brain twitch as the intersect provided him with more information. Euric von Hassle, German diplomat; owes fifty thousand dollars to three ex-wives and is currently missing; lived primarily in southern Germany, but has offices in Italy, Turkey, Mongolia, and Eastern China. He saw pictures of his wives and children, the buildings with known ties to his criminal activity, and a large CIA top secret file labeled DEFECT.

"Sir, are you alright?" asked the stewardess. She put a hand on his shoulder. "Do you need a warm towelette? A pillow?"

Chuck smiled, then patted her hand. "Thank you, ma'am," he said, in Russian, "but I am fine. Sometimes flying makes me a bit woozy."

She nodded. "I understand," she said. She handed a glass of wine to Sarah, then to Chuck. "Please let me know if you need anything further."

"We will," said Chuck, bowing his head slightly.

When she had walked away, Sarah clinked her glass to his. "Wow, Charles. You've come a long way." She took a small sip, then set the glass down on the file in front of her.

"How do you mean?" asked Chuck.

"You spoke Russian without flashing," she whispered.

He squinted his eyes, as though remembering something. "The end of my training session today gave me some exercises to retain languages. If she speaks Russian, or if her speech is Russian enough, the you-know-what is able to fill in the blanks for me."

She shook her head. "That's still very impressive." He watched her for a moment. She wasn't looking at him when she spoke, but when he didn't respond, she looked up to meet his gaze. "What?"

"Nothing," he said. He captured a mental image of her eyes. "Nothing."

"How is your new apartment?" she asked, casually.

Chuck sighed. "You don't have to do this," he said. "You can just brief me."

"Alright," said Sarah, a little resigned. "I assume you know that before Euric von Hassle disappeared, he defected to the United States."

"Check," said Chuck. "He also has three very angry ex-wives vying for a hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Good to know," she said. "He was about to provide us with a name for the group we are dealing with before he disappeared. Right now we refer to them as the Pound."

"The Pound?" asked Chuck. "Really?"

"Yes," said Sarah. "They are pretty much a collection of politicians, businessmen, and careermen who are unwanted and undervalued. From the five individuals we know of, the impression we get is that Irina recruits those who are ready to betray their country for a less significant purpose."

"Such as trading illegal weapons to enemy states?" asked Chuck.

Sarah nodded. "Was there anything else in that flash?"

"Nope," said Chuck. "A bunch of buildings. I'd probably recognize them if I saw them again, but nothing I knew."

"Doesn't the intersect tell you what the buildings are?" asked Sarah.

"Sometimes, not always," said Chuck. "If it's just a photo accompanying the report, I only know what the report knows. It's not G.P.S." He grinned, thinking about his head like his iPhone.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Sarah, smiling curiously. "You've got a funny grin."

"I was thinking about how cool it would be if intersect two point oh had Google Maps," said Chuck, staring off into the distance. "Even cooler if I could get Wi-Fi and browse the web."

"I'm glad to see Chuck is still inside there," said Sarah, smiling. She had that look on her face, the one that painted for him a future together. He missed that smile, the slight narrowing of the eyes. Her fingers stroked her wine glass inadvertently. Chuck cleared his throat and looked at his glass, taking a sip to avoid an awkward moment.

"Was there anything else?" asked Chuck. "About the brief?"

Sarah shifted in her seat. "Well, I was wondering how you planned to…" she paused, "distract Irina Kopp."

Chuck looked down at Sarah again. She wasn't looking at him. She hid whatever her face showed by shuffling through the papers in front of her. Irina's was on top now. Her eyes were narrow and fierce, like she could gut a man by staring at him sideways.

"Just like Agent Brook said," Chuck shrugged. "By whatever means necessary."

Sarah inhaled deeply. "Is this how it's going to be from now on?"

"I thought this is how you wanted it," said Chuck. "The job. The professional rapport." He sat back in his chair and took another sip of wine. He hated wine. He hated wine even more when he wanted to pretend to like it. "I can be professional."

"If we are going to be on the same team, Mr. Carmichael, we are going to have to do more than get along," said Sarah. "What made us great was…"

The stewardess appeared suddenly at Chuck's side and Sarah stopped short. "Sir, miss, do you need more wine?" She held up the bottle.

"We're good here," said Sarah. "Thank you." The stewardess moved on.

A moment passed before Chuck spoke. "What made us good, Sarah, was that we cared about each other. I trusted you more than anyone, I always knew you would come after me when I got into trouble, no matter what it cost you. And it always cost you. I would look at your face following missions and see bruises or cuts from something you had to do to protect me." He closed his eyes. He felt himself reverting back into old Chuck, the vulnerable and touchy-feely Chuck. Pre-spy training Chuck. He looked for his peaceful center.

"Do you really think all that just goes away, Chuck?" asked Sarah. "That the need and fierce desire to keep you safe from everything we've seen in the last two years can just go away?"

"For me? No. No, no, no. For me, normal 'ol Chuck with the unreal life, the bizarre and unnatural talent, the lanky and clumsy demeanor…" Chuck sat up straight and looked Sarah in the eyes this time. He looked so intensely at her, she blinked, swallowed, and smacked her lips. "For Chuck, that doesn't just go away. But apparently it is so natural for everyone else."

Sarah looked hurt. She still glared at him, equalizing his own furiosity, but unlike his own, blatant anger, her face helt the faint traces of misappropriation of judgment. She was offended that he though her so lifeless, so without feeling. He looked away and tried to feel guilty.

"Thank you for the wine, Ms. Sarah," he said, unbuckling at standing up. "I hope you have a pleasant stay in Russia."

She watched him leave. "You too, Mr. Carmichael."

* * *

The Russian Consulate was built like an army base in regards to its strategic placement of security and the location of important members within. Though the main building stood up slightly on a hill, overlooking the village of Chybansk, there were residential houses on the grounds for the cooks, grounds keepers, and security staff. As far as trust went, the common Russian motto was to trust someone just as far as they could be seen, and even then it's best to walk with one's back against the wall.

The vista was beautiful. The limo brought Charles Fischer up from the very base of the hill, past the wrought iron gates, made intentionally to look rusted and aged even though the whole place itself was less than forty years old. The road up to the main building was pebbled and lined with hand cut rocks from northern Siberia. Beautiful dark bushes curled up the black fences surrounding the road until finally it broke around a large fountain, the rim of which was only three feet off the ground, and the limo wrapped around the left and pulled up in front of the main entrance.

An attendant ran to the back of the limo to open Mr. Fischer's door. Charles stood up, now in full spy mode. He buttoned the coat of his jacked, absently thanked the attendant in Russian, and took his time up the steps. At the door, two security guards stood stationary.

Once passed the guards, Chuck spoke into his cufflink. "Sarah, what's your twenty?"

"Through point A," said Sarah. She sounded out of breath, but right on track, if not ahead of schedule.

"Major?" asked Chuck. Across the room he saw Casey, holding a glass of champagne and speaking with a French politician. The intersect recognized Henry Colletti, undersecretary to the Prime Minister; at 35 years old he was the youngest man ever to hold his position; no known ties to terrorists, but prone to make back-alley deals when he couldn't secure a price for himself. The CIA didn't care too much about him, but he was in to great a position to ignore him completely.

Casey turned on his com by pretending to adjust his cuffs. "Wife's got the kids this week," said Casey, the code phrase for _ready_, should he be unable to speak freely. "Couldn't miss the chance to be here for the firm."

"One down," said Sarah. "Moving to point B."

Sarah was going to plant a total of fifteen bugs. According to the schematics for the building, the first five were going to be easy because the phones of the offices of assumed or known affiliates were the furthest away from the party. The hard part was going to be finding the next offices based on instruction by Chuck. He was to mingle and quickly identify the associates, partners, or allies, and Sarah had to, then, either find their offices or break into their vehicles.

As Chuck went to _mingle_, he began to utilize training from his very first week at Harlington in D.C., which the CIA refers to simply as covert ops.

_It was, for lack of a better word, a garage door. It had the horizontal lines that allowed it to fold up into the wall, and was set in almost a foot within the wall. Metallic, bullet proof, probably. Chuck felt very overdressed standing before this door in a black suit with a bow tie, hair sleeked back, and nice, shiny new shoes. If this hadn't been a CIA building, he might have thought it a dream with its odd combination of bizarre surroundings to incompatible outfits; like running naked through school, or a pink bunny suit at the grocery store._

_He turned to look at Sarah, who matched his degree of class, but wearing it much better than he. "I don't get why we're so dressed up," he said, pulling at his tie. "I mean, I know this is the CIA and everything, but this is a garage door."_

_Sarah smiled and slapped his hand away from his tie. She fixed it for him while replying. "Lesson one, Chuck Bartowski: as a spy, you need to be ready to be whomever, whenever, in order to achieve your objective. Sometimes we have several hours to think through our cover, like we had to with some of our fake dates, other times it is sprung on you in an instant's notice. You have to be ready to drop Bartowski, and assume any identity."_

_He drew in a breath. "Carmichael. Charles...Carmichael."_

_Sarah stood on her toes and kissed his lips softly. "Nope. Today, Chuck, you are Charles Aberforth, millionaire playboy with a pocketful of chips and the potential to get any woman on your arm."_

"_But I don't have just any woman on my arm," he said, quietly. "I have you."_

"_Before and after, and much, much after," said Sarah, reaching up to kiss him. "But in between, Sarah does not matter." He put a hand behind her head and held her lips to his a moment longer._

_The garage made a clanking and grinding noise, then, and began to open. They turned to face the door, Sarah's arm linked through Chuck's. Frame by frame, it seemed to Chuck, it revealed a thorough and intricately detailed casino._

"Champagne?" A waiter appeared before Chuck, holding a tray full of champagne glassed.

Feeling the time was nigh to begin his part of the story, Chuck accepted two glasses and looked around the room. About twenty feet to his right, a woman had parted from the crowd to gaze at a large piece of artwork hanging on the wall. Chuck made his move.

"I believe you are missing something," said Charles, the undercover spy. The woman turned and he held out a glass of champagne. "Fischer. Charles Fischer."

The woman, who was much shorter than him, smiled pleasantly and looked up at him. "Thank you, Mr. Fischer." She took the glass from him and he noticed her ring. She was married.

"Might you be so kind as to offer me your name?" asked Charles.

The woman took a little sip. "Harriet Addlebee," she said. The intersect quickly told Chuck she was the wife of a German curator specializing in rare science, Kei Addlebee; they had two children under the age of twenty-one; she'd been charged with evading Germany's severe taxes on more than five occasions, and had been mysteriously acquiesced on all accounts. She had no direct connections to terrorist, but was on a watch list because of her loyalty to her husband.

"It is a pleasure, Mrs. Addlebee," said Charles. "I'm a fan of your husband's taste in art."

Mrs. Addlebee's eyes widened, looking intrigued and curious. "You know my husband, yes?"

"I've never actually been introduced, but…in college, my history of modern science class…we took a trip to his museum," said Charles, fumbling a little with the lie. He tried to make it sound as though he was embarrassed, rather than making something up as he went along. He had to be prepared to be anyone at anytime. Charles Fischer obtained a doctorate in business and engineering at Harvard University, graduated in 2007 with honors, and went on to start his own business in robotics software.

"Fischer, you said your name is? Charles Fischer?" asked Mrs. Addlebee, straightening up. She looked around and Chuck followed her gaze until it landed on a tall, dark man speaking with a shorter, balding gentleman. The shorter gentleman turned to draw in another man into his conversation with Kei Addlebee and the intersect downloaded a stream of information.

Daniil Filipov, chairman of Russia's Committee on Natural Resources and Utilization, currently representing the State Duma region in the Federal Council. Known ties to over fifty terrorist organizations. Non-lethal, but considered dangerous due to allegiances and influences. High on CIA, NSA, and FBI watch lists.

Chuck cleared his throat, nervously. "Is that him, speaking with Chairman Filipov?" he asked, trying to get Charles to take over. "Daniil Filipov. What a _flash _of genius."

Mrs. Addlebee scoffed. "If you say so."

Sarah came in over the com. "Daniil Filipov. Check." They had established that Chuck would work the word _flash_ into a sentence, however rudimentarily, should he ID someone as potential Pound or affiliates.

Next to him, Mrs. Addlebee waved at her husband to come over. Kei Addlebee excused himself and weaved between politicians and important societal individuals to where his wife and Chuck stood, still close to the wall.

"Dear, I have to introduce you to a fan," she said, smiling sweetly. "Charles Fischer, my husband Kei."

"It's a sincere pleasure," said Charles, gripping the man's handshake with both hands. This was also a sign, for Casey, to ensure he hadn't missed the code word.

"A fan? I am flattered to find such a person among this group. But Fischer…" he pondered the name for a moment. "As in Fischer Software, the American company?"

"That's correct," said Chuck, who never ceased to be surprised at the ability of the CIA to affect such a strong cover for their agents and assets.

"What brings you to Russia, young man? Certainly not an old, fuddy duddy event like this?" said Mr. Addlebee.

Charles smiled. In any line of work, this is what people called networking. "It is, as you say, _Aus nichts wird nichts_." Chuck blinked, trying to hide the surprise at what had just come out of his mouth. He'd understood what he'd said, _Nothing ventured, nothing gained_, but he was amazed at how it had come so quickly to him and, moreover, how he'd known what to say.

Mr. Addlebee looked impressed, nonetheless. "Mr. Fischer, you are well-versed in culture for an American software man."

Charles shrugged. "Thank you, sir. And, please, call me Charles. Mr. Fischer is my father." Mr. Addlebee laughed.

In his ear he heard Sarah, annoyed. "Chuck, stop making nice and mingle. I've almost got the five planted."

Chuck stood up straight and touched his tie, tweaking it a bit. "Mr. and Mrs. Addlebee, it was a pleasure meeting you, but I think I need to work my way around the room. Would you excuse me, please?"

"Of course, dear," said Mrs. Addlebee, touching his arm. "Find me again, would you?" Chuck grinned, stupidly, at the attractive German woman, and slipped away.

"There's a group of men at your two o'clock," said Casey, in Chuck's ear. "One of them might be the current Conservation Specialist of South Africa." Chuck was starting to wonder what kind of a party this really was. This really was the strangest collection of individuals he'd ever heard of. Either the associates were so discreet that it was, indeed, the most subtle of operations, or every single person in this place was, in one way or another, linked to the Pound.

Charles turned to look at his two o'clock. A group of men were laughing in the corner, holding empty glasses of champagne. One man looked up and seemed to recognize him. He waved at Charles. Chuck looked behind him, expecting someone else to be standing near him. When he looked back, the man was laughing.

"Mr. Fischer, over here," said the man.

Chuck smiled and walked to the group. "Good evening, gentlemen. I am…"

"Charles Fischer," said the man who had summoned him over. "Yes, we were just talking about you. Did you have a word with Kei Addlebee just now?"

"I did," said Charles. He looked around the circle and tried to pass off the intersect's interruption as something caught in his eye. The man who had summoned him did not register, but three of the five men did.

Anthony Fitzgerald, American. National Energy Specialist based in Texas. Tax fraud. Known ties to Russian, Indonesian, and Central American weapons dealers. Cayman account. Photographs of Anthony flitted across Chuck's mind, in various disguises and his picture upon various passports. Then an alias: Sunday Bear.

Fredrick Gispie, alias Slip. Arrested on five counts of illegal weapons trade. Passports from the Middle East and South Africa flashed. This must be the South African Conservation Specialist. The intersect didn't have much on him.

The last man, Peter Sokolov, did not have an alias, but the intersect had many pictures of him dining with Irina Kopp, meeting with the French Minister of Defense, and working closely with Fredrick Gispie.

The men went around the room and introduced themselves, none of whom were entirely honest about their professions, but presented Chuck with the gist, or the summary, of their overall position. How was he going to notify Sarah that all three men needed to be bugged?

It took Chuck even longer to get away from these men as it had from the Addlebees. They all wanted to know where the future of Fischer Software was headed and what they could expect in the upcoming year. Chuck buffed his way through most of it by using phrases like "company secrets" and "don't want to spoil the surprise."

He finally got away by saying he had to use the restroom. "Sarah," he said, into his cufflink. "Bathroom, second floor."

"Copy that," said Sarah.

Charles shook a couple hands while he made his way to the second floor bathroom. He felt odd doing all this without Sarah. Throughout all his time as the semi-capable intersect, prior to spy training, he'd always had someone to walk around with him, to offer him with some sort of buffer. He did not like going at this on his own. But this was a dangerous group of people and too many friendly Americans might scare them.

The intersect was doing more than it had ever done before for Chuck. Not only did it give him all the information the CIA and NSA had about anyone recognizable, but it gave him a way to bridge language barriers and general perceptions about behavior. He knew when to avoid certain people, merely by a look. He did not attempt to shake a hand if a man held his champagne is his right hand; that meant he did not wish to be disturbed. That kind of subtlety was never covered in spy training.

Despite his standoffish disposition toward Sarah at the present, never had they entered an undercover mission without full disclosure, without her making it absolutely clear that his safety was her first priority and that he had backup, regardless of what happened.

Maybe it was slightly unmasculine to admit that, Chuck thought, but it didn't make it any less true. He might be in training as a CIA spy, but underneath the intersect was Chuck Irving Bartowski, six years at Buy More, once expelled from Stanford. He was still, underneath it all, the same, insecure guy he'd always been.

But, of course, he'd come a long way in the last couple years. Bravery trumped fear more often, courage and fortitude emerged above his sissy scream.

Chuck opened the door to the bathroom and felt himself yanked in, the door shut fast behind him and locked. He breathed deeply, taken aback, until he saw Sarah's blonde hair whip into his eyeline. She pinned him with a hand against the wall.

"What is it?" she asked. She wasn't upset, she was direct.

"I couldn't get a chance to use the code word and everything was just too rushed," he whispered, talking fast. "I was trying to use the word flash, but everything I came up with sounded so corny that I felt it would be way too obvious to go through with it and then I couldn't see Casey…"

"Spit it out, Chuck," she said, snapping her fingers. She removed her hand from his chest and stepped back.

"Anthony Fitzgerald. Fredrick Gispie. Peter Sokolov." Chuck repeated the names quickly. "Fredrick Gispie gives me the creeps. There is something very off about that man."

"You have to find Irina," said Sarah. "You have to make contact with her and get her to invite you to something else."

"Like what?" he asked.

"Anything. Russians always have something going on. Irina is the social butterfly of weapons dealers. She's practically the only woman," said Sarah. She crossed her arms. Her tight black clothes hugged her body nicely, and Chuck found himself momentarily distracted. A couple images of shared moments together at Harlington crossed his mind.

"Are you doing okay?" he asked. He cleared his throat and rephrased his thought. "I mean, is everything going smoothly?"

"Yes, everything is fine. I just need all the names," said Sarah. "Can you do that for me?"

Chuck stood up straight, resenting the slight on his ability. He had an idea that she was attempting to incite decisive action into him; if she was, it was working. "I have _stealth_ tattooed on my ass," he said, through clenched teeth.

She stepped forward, getting close to him. "No you don't."

"Yeah? Well, I got it _after _you broke up with me," said Chuck, pushing off the wall.

"I bet you did," said Sarah, under her breath. She pushed him out of the way, jumped, and wiggled up into a vent above where Chuck's head was. He glared at her butt as she disappeared, closing the vent without a trace of her ever being there.

Quietly, Chuck unlocked the door and walked out. He smoothed his tux and checked his watch. A quarter after ten.

"Talking to yourself, Mr. Fischer?" A beautiful, Russian accent lit up his ears and Chuck stopped walking mid stride. He turned to face a lovely, dark-haired woman, leaning against a wall. This was Irina Kopp. As he watched, Irinia put a small, metallic object into her pocket and approached him. "You have been the talk of the party," said Irina. "Everybody says to me, Irina, you must meet Charles Fischer. Wonderful man, smart, brainy, going places."

Her eyes were dark, like midnight, and her lips a raspberry red, full and perfect in shape. Irina wore a long black dress with silver crested diamond straps. Her shoulders were thin, but muscular and wiry.

"Is that so?" he asked, smiling coyly. He stepped forward slowly to meet her in her progress.

"This is so," said Irina. She stopped when their bodies were less than six inches away. Her breasts nearly touched his chest. Charles tried to keep his cool, but Chuck kept creeping up on him.

"I must say that I've been looking forward to meeting you as well, Mrs. Kopp," said Charles. He put out his arm and she accepted the gesture.

"Irina, my dear," she said. "And I assume you prefer Charles?"

"Of course," said Chuck, swallowing hard. "You are even more beautiful than the rumors."

"The rumors?" she said, laughing. When she laughed, her head went backward just a little, accepting the flattery, but routinely denying its implication. "Charles, you are smart. You know how to charm, don't you?"

Charles smiled, winking. "I don't turn it on for just anyone, Irina." He heard Casey groan in his earwig. The Major had been oddly silent the last couple hours.

"How do you like the party, Charles?" asked Irina, walking slowly alongside Chuck. They were heading in the general direction of the stairwell, but it didn't seem like they were ever going to get there.

"It's spectacular," said Charles, letting the excitement rule his voice. "Everything, from the drive up the hill to the architecture of this building, to the guests."

Irina smiled, looking up at him. She was at least a foot shorter than he, but her presence made her seem taller. He felt out of his league and entirely unsure of what she wanted from him; he was starting to forget what he wanted from her as well.

"I am glad," she said, her Russian very overpowering. It was thick, as though her English was rusty. "You fit in well, here." She paused, bringing him to a stop a good twenty feet before the stairwell. "Tell me, who invited you?"

Chuck stopped breathing for a split second, letting the natural panic take precedence for a moment, until memory served its purpose. "My father, Jeffrey Fischer, supported Aurthur Milbrook for nearly forty years." He watched her face for signs of recognition, but the woman did not give much away. "Milbrook made many changes in Texas's energy conservation and worked on the International Council with…"

Irina waved a hand, realizing the connections Charles Fischer had were too wordy for her taste. "Yes, yes. I get it." She pulled his tie out of his shirt and drew him close to her. "How would you like me to show you something, Charles? I have…networking?" She raised her eyebrows, somewhat suggestively.

"Networking," Chuck said, his voice cracking, "I love networking. Networks, net, and working. Networking is the best, though."

Irina stood up on her toes and whispered in his ear. "I don't make you nervous, do I, Charles?"

Chuck laughed, slightly hysterical. He cleared his throat, took a couple deep breaths, and tried to think about something other than the sweat dripping down his neck. "Nervous? Me?" Irina smiled.

She continued to lead him toward the stairwell, but instead of going down, she went straight and down the shorter corridor to the door at the very end. He breathed in and out, heavily, and rapidly, and looked around the empty hall as Irina punched in the code to the office. She yanked him in the office with much greater force than was either necessary or than he expected from her frame.

When the door closed, Irina pinned Chuck to the door and began kissing him fiercely. Surprised, he moved his jaw to mimic her, finding the moment quite unconventional and unorthodox. She moved her hands to his coat, unbuttoned it quickly, and slid it off his shoulders. Just as quickly, she pulled his shirt out of his pants and whipped him around, moving him backward across the room.

When he thought the room couldn't be any larger, he hit another wall and she slid him down into a chair, straddling him.

"You will like what I have to show you, Charles," said Irina, into his ear. "I know you will be most surprised." She got off him. "Don't move?"

"Wouldn't think of it," said Chuck, giving her more of a grimace than a smile. She disappeared behind another door, it shut softly behind her. "Crap." Chuck said, standing up. "Crap, crap, crap."

"What is it, Chuck?" asked Casey through his com.

"I think I've been made," Chuck whispered, into his cuff.

"Chuck, Irina is skilled in Tai Chi and Baguazhang," said Casey. "Use whatever you can to keep yourself alive, I need about ten minutes to track your location."

"Second level, north side. Office at the end of the corridor," Chuck whispered, quickly. "What the heck is Baguazhang?" He got no reply.

He turned in circles, looking for a way out. The windows in the center of the wall facing the outside would open and lower him to the rear of the Consulate, opposite of where he'd entered. He had no idea where the door Irina went through would take him.

He looked along the east wall and something caught his eye. He walked closer, to get a better look. It was an ornamental memento, like a collectable, but distinguished and very specific. It registered with the intersect as the large form of a medallion passed among members of the Pound. The body of Lazar Ivanov recovered in the Tiber River, a hundred miles north of Rome, had this medallion on his person. Thrown in almost completely unidentifiable, Lazar was found after three weeks in the river and identified only by his dental records.

A gun cocked behind him, and Chuck instinctively raised his hands. "Irina…?" he turned to face the fierce Russian woman, whom he was, in that moment, deathly afraid of.

"We've been waiting for the CIA to send someone," said Irina. "I never could have guessed it would have been you."

"What are you talking about? CIA? I'm in software, I'm not with the CIA…" said Chuck, feeling the insecure ramble take over his mind. He raced to get his mind back on track, to get his bearings. He had to keep Sarah from coming in here, Casey would be here soon.

"Please, Mr. Bartowski, I am not stupid, so do not treat me like an imbecile," said Irina. She pushed the gun closer to Chuck's face. He went cross-eyed trying to keep it in sight. He shook his head and refocused on her.

"Irina, please, we can come to some sort of agreement, can't we? I need something, you need something. Do you want to be a bad guy forever? By which I mean, bad girl. I mean, bad woman. I mean, not bad as in I'm here to scold you, but bad as in what you do. Because it is the things we do that define us, that's what my dad always said. If we don't have stuff to prove what we've done, then, well…"

"Shut up," she said. She brought her arm back quickly to strike him across the face, but he caught her arm with his hand, instinctively, and from there let the intersect tell him what to do.

She side swept him with her leg from the left, but he jumped, letting go of her arm, and causing the gun to fly out of her hand. How did she know who he was? He flipped backward, out of her reach as she attempted to kick her again. In his ear he heart Sarah yell his name and his heart thudded. She knew, she would be coming. He had to end this quick.

He raced for Irina, using a self-invented combination of Krav Maga and Kapap, whipping his arms in and out, going for her throat and forearms. She flowed in and out of his movements, as though anticipating each and seeing it all before he did. She jabbed him in the nose with her fist, breaking it clean. His eyes watered and the intersect shut down due to his fear. He stumbled back, gripping his nose and the blood flowing out of it in streams.

A door behind him burst open and someone raced in. He turned to see a man, dressed in a long green robe, come flying at him. Chuck ducked, instinctively, and this quick reaction reset the intersect. He reached up and grabbed the man's foot, cranking it around. The man spun and a loud crack emitted from the knee and hip joints of the man's right leg. Chuck hoisted the man up and spun him around, throwing him at Irina. Irina dove out of the way and toward the gun strewn across the floor.

From somewhere above him, a loud clang tore through the air and a vent came flying off the wall. Four feet above his head, Sarah slipped out of the vent and jumped to the ground. Chuck raced to catch her; the fall was too great for her not to injure something. He broke the fall by locking his arms in a long triangle, like a proper volleyball hit. She hit the center of his arms and bounced off gracefully, pulling out her gun and spinning around.

Irina was pulling the man in the green robe into the door she'd disappeared to for a moment beforehand. Chuck and Sarah raced to the door, but it closed and latched just as Chuck laid a hand on it.

"Step back," said Sarah. She shot at the door, but the door seemed to just absorb the bullets. She was breathing deeply. She pushed him back into the center of the room and eyed him carefully, cupping his face in her hand. "Are you okay? Did you get hurt?"

"I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine," he said, blinking and gulping. It was all so surreal and he was unsure of what had actually just taken place. He looked into her eyes, which were wide with concern. She stepped back a little, to take in his appearance; surely noting, as she did so, his ruffled, blood-stained shirt and the lipstick all over his face and neck.

"Good," she said, turning away. "Good. We need to get out of here."

"Did you get most of the bugs planted?" asked Chuck.

"As many as I could," she said. "We'll talk about this later. We will need to call for a special extraction team."

"This is all my fault," said Chuck, shaking his head. "I shouldn't have followed her in here. I couldn't understand why she wanted me to come with her. I didn't follow through."

Sarah stepped closer to him again, staring up at him. "Chuck, this was your first mission back. Plus, you were alone. It was difficult, dangerous, and only had a sixty percent possibility of succeeding."

"What?" Chuck said in defiance. "Why wasn't I told that?"

"Because you are prone to react poorly to low probabilities," said Sarah. "The less you know about what is really going on, the better you are at your job." She brought her watch up to her mouth. "Casey, meet us at ground floor, outside the north side of the building."

"Copy that," said Casey.

"Where has Casey been tonight?" asked Chuck, offhandedly.

"He's had a mission of his own," said Sarah. Once again, she cupped his face in her hand. "Are you sure you're okay?" Her eyes blazed with intensity, like they always used to for him. They were back in the field, back where her feeling of protection was strongest for him. He knew it, she knew it.

But it didn't mean anything. Did it?

It was times like these when he knew he couldn't blame everything on Bryce. He couldn't even blame Bryce's actions on Bryce. It was he that was to blame. Too weak, too vulnerable; too prone to getting himself into predicaments too large for one inefficient man to handle. The job, the life, the twisted world; that's what was to blame.


	4. Information Overload

**Chuck vs. the Virus**

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* * *

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**Chapter 3: Information Overload**

Hansel Waters screamed in pain, unable to mask the tearing agony coursing through his leg. It seemed to reverberate through every muscle in his body, blinding him. He could feel his body slide across a cold floor, which provided him with the only relief against his profusely sweating body. Someone was talking overhead, but he couldn't hear them clearly. His ears rang from the pain.

"Stop blubbering like a baby," said the female's voice, in crisp Russian. The man grimaced, breathing heavily and letting out quick, deep breaths. He clutched and tore at his robes.

The woman was patient. She walked back and forth in front of him as he regained control of his consciousness. Until his breaths were quieter, she paced. Even when Hansel Waters had calmed down, his face still sweat, and the pain still ached through his body.

"That's a little better," said Irina Kopp. She stooped in front of him and touched his right hip. He screamed again and, like a flopping fish, attempted to swat her hand away. "It's only dislocated, you numbskull." She stood up and walked out of his line of view. "They still have the CIA operative our mole told us about. He was here, in our Consulate, and he escaped."

Despite his agony, Hansel Waters understood the depth of what Irina said. The CIA operative had been their opportunity, a possible bargaining chip to obtain United States intelligence, perhaps even forge a connection into the heartland of America's operations.

"Mother Russia has been down for too long," said Irina, mostly to herself. "When will these idiots we appoint to our heads of state learn that to be a reckoning force, a country must make itself a threat to those who refuse to align themselves?" She took the metallic coin out of her pocket and turned it over in her hand.

"Who was the operative?" asked Waters, who managed to get himself into a sitting position against the nearest wall. He was not a man of action. Coming to the aid of Irina Kopp had been an act of pure passion and instinct. He'd lost his sense of self-preservation for a couple moments, until the terrifying crack of his entire leg had jerked him back to reality. "He had many tricks."

Irina sat in a chair against the far wall. Above her, the only lamp in the room was turned on,; it sat mounted like a torch on the wall. It gave the room an eerie luminescence that suited its general purpose.

"I do not understand something, Irina," said Waters, panting. "You say to me that you bring in to your room the man whom you expect to be CIA, and to notify _San Juan_. But you also said you would go back out to him, pretend to love on him, and then pull your gun. But you did not do this. You went out there and threatened his life before he saw you reappear. Why?"

Irina did not look at the very pale man on the floor. She sat with one hand supporting her chin, the other draped lazily over her knee. "He knows much more than I ever expected," said Irina, in English. Waters did not understand English, so he sat patiently, waiting for her to say more.

"Our mole knows very much about the operatives who seek to infiltrate our organization," said Irina, returning to Russian. "He gives us times of arrival, code names, things he can reveal without giving up his cover. And believe me, Hansel, we need him to keep his cover. So he gives us Agent Charles Fischer and Agent Sarah Walker."

Hansel looked confused. "I do not understand. How is this a bad thing?"

"Because they were not working alone, you dim witted idiot," said Irina. "There was at least one other agent here tonight. I heard them talking." She tapped her chin. "Agent Fischer…" She pondered the name for a moment. "I don't know about him. There is something very strange about that man. His comportment of a CIA agent is weak, but is nonetheless intelligent and deceptive."

The coin she still held in her hand fell to the floor, bounced, and rolled to Waters. He reached out to pick it up. _Niamiha_, was inscribed across the top of the coin on both sides. On one side there was a crown, on the other side a strange, foreign symbol: five wavy lines, crossing at the center.

"It is familiar to you, no?" asked Irina.

Hansel spluttered. "But of course," he said. "This is the legendary coin of Niamiha, thought to be lost within the river of its name."

"My people are connected to very important leaders," said Irina, now looked at him full in the face. "We need to find this Charles Fischer. Our mole says he is the key to unlocking the fabric that so closely entwines the allegiances between powerful countries. We find Agent Fischer, Hansel, and we are even further ahead than we could have dreamed of."

* * *

_Chuck woke up on his side, facing his alarm clock. 5:23 A.M. He still had two hours until he needed to be awake. The Harlington Academy wasn't too hard-assed about timing. _

_Yawning, he stretched, clenching his eyes shut, and doing very little to conceal the soft roar coming from deep within his throat. His body rolled on the bed and he flipped over. _

_Then, soft fingers brushed his upper lip._

_He opened one eye, squinting. Sarah smirked._

"_You forgot to take off your disguise last night," she whispered, still touching his upper lip. He twitched his mouth and, sure enough, there was something stuck there. "It's okay, though. I enjoyed this one." She inched her head closer to him and kissed him, right below his bottom lip._

_Chuck moved his hand under the covers and wrapped it around Sarah's body, drawing her close to him. He yawned again, laughing this time. Sleepily, his eyes still opening and shutting without seeing much, he responded. "I'm just thankful you don't have to wear the mustaches."_

_Sarah laughed. "Me too." She pulled the mustache off his face, very abruptly._

_Chuck's eyes shot open and nearly began to water. "Great, thanks. Now I'm awake." The last of his words were drowned in Sarah's kiss. He curled his other arm under her and wrapped her tightly to him. When she broke the kiss and leaned her head back to look at him, he shut his eyes and sighed. "I could definitely get used to this."_

_She laid her head on the pillow. "Better than the window-less, padded cell, then?"_

_Chuck pretended to look around their room, evaluating his options. "Yeah, I guess. This place has its perks."_

"_Like…no surveillance?" asked Sarah._

"_Yes, like that," said Chuck, smiling. "And I really like this quilt." He brought the quilt up over their heads. The already dark room completely disappeared beneath the thick quilt._

"_The quilt is nice, too," she said. She snaked her arm down his side until she found his hand. Slinking her fingers through his, she moved in closer to him until no space separated them. "We still have two hours."_

_Chuck rested his chin on her head, focusing on her fingers, thinking about her skin. "What do you think about just staying like this…for as long as possible?"_

_On his chest where Sarah had nuzzled her face, he felt her smile. "I'd like that," she whispered._

It wasn't hard for Sarah to sneak into the Franklin Street complex. The lights were on outside, but the inside of the surrounding apartments were dark. Ellie and Devon Woodcomb's apartment was dark, too. Looking around, to be sure she wouldn't be seen, Sarah quietly opened the window that had, for so long, been Chuck's.

Still as unlocked as ever before, the window opened noiselessly. She peered inside, looking for signs of life. When nothing moved for several seconds, Sarah took out a small flashlight, crawled inside, and turned it on, keeping it low to the ground.

Chuck's stuff hadn't been moved, despite his recent acquisition of a new residence. The government had, of course, sprung for new things for him, so perhaps he felt like preserving this room for a while.

Sarah had to admit that she didn't have her plan worked out entirely. She wanted to come back here just once, to remember a couple things, and to see how much the government had removed itself from Chuck's family's personal life. Now that Chuck had severed living ties with his sister, Sarah felt it would be worth putting up a fight to have all surveillance removed from the premises.

But once inside, she found it hard to do anything. She sat on his bed for a couple minutes, looking around. Nothing had been touched. The pictures of them still in their frames, his Tron poster still hung. A shirt and tie were even still lying on the ground near his closet. She grazed the light over the clothes and into the partially opened closet. His hamper was still entirely full of clothes. She stood up and walked to the closet, unable to keep from smiling. Only Chuck Bartowski could leave a hamper full of clothes untouched for over three months.

Shining her flashlight into the hamper, she was only slightly surprised to see one of her old Orange Orange tank tops in it. In the week following Ellie's wedding, that had been one of the first things to come off while in this room. She shook her head, clearing the memory from her mind.

And then something odd caught her eye. Down in the far corner of Chuck's closet, completely out of plain view, was a black disc, about the size and thickness of a silver dollar. It was fastened to the wall. She knelt down to get a better look at it. As she got closer to it, she accidentally hit the door of the closet, which slammed noisily against the wall. Her eyes widened and she froze.

Thinking fast, she yanked the object off the wall and stuck it in her pocket. The hallway light had turned on. Did she want a confrontation or not? What if it was Devon? He might understand. But Ellie would tell Chuck that she'd been in here. Maybe not if she explained it, came up with a real-sounding reason for being here.

Too late to make a move, Chuck's door opened and the light flicked on. Devon, shirtless, and concealing Ellie who peered in under his arm, stood in the doorway, shocked.

"Sarah?" Ellie's face changed from fear to pleased relief, and then to confusion.

"Hi, guys…" said Sarah, swallowing hard and thinking fast. "I'm really sorry, this looks really bad, I know…"

Ellie pushed passed Devon, whose eyes were still wide. Surely his mind was racing through the million explanations for Sarah being in Chuck's room.

"That depends on why you're here. Is everything okay? Are you back in town?" asked Ellie.

"Everything is fine," said Sarah. She ran a hand through her hair and looked around the room absently. "I just, I haven't been able to find a necklace…I had a brain wave, thought it might be here."

Ellie crossed her arms, eyeing Sarah carefully. The look Sarah was getting from Ellie in that moment was one of the reasons she envied Chuck so much; this woman was devoted to her younger brother in every way possible. It made Sarah's heart hurt just a little bit to know the kind of resentment Ellie felt toward her.

But Ellie's face softened and she let her arms hang loose. "A necklace, hmm?" She looked around the room. "Well, honestly, Sarah, I haven't been in here much since you and Chuck went on vacation."

A vacation to Northern Europe. They'd made it to Denmark for three days before being ordered to Harlington, D.C. for Chuck to attend the academy.

"And Chuck hasn't been here at all since he got his own place," said Devon. "Not once. It's like he doesn't want anything from this room." Devon's voice was stern, so unlike anything Sarah had ever heard come from his mouth.

"Oh, yeah," said Sarah, pretending to only just remember Chuck's new apartment. "I'd heard he got his own place. Not to far away, is it?"

Ellie glanced at Devon, who shrugged. "It's a little drive," he said, nonchalantly. If Sarah didn't know exactly where Chuck was, Devon sure wasn't going to tell her. Sarah nodded, understanding the vibe she was getting from Devon now. Ellie might not understand the whole story, but Devon certainly did.

"I am really sorry to have disturbed you," said Sarah, backing up toward the window. "I feel very foolish. I shouldn't have worried about the necklace."

"Don't be silly," said Ellie. "Exes can be allowed to come collecting." She yawned. "Tell you what, I'll get Chuck to…"

"No," said Sarah, quickly. "Please don't tell Chuck I was here…"

Ellie smiled kindly. "I just meant I'd have Chuck come clear his stuff out. Maybe it will turn up that way. Chances are he'd recognize it."

Embarrassed by her own reaction, Sarah looked away, to where her gaze unfortunately landed on a picture of her and Chuck. She wholeheartedly regretted coming here now. Too many memories, too much history.

"I'm going to go, now," said Sarah, "before I embarrass myself further."

Ellie nodded. "Sarah…you're always welcome here. Don't ever feel like you have to climb through a window."

* * *

There were three main rooms Chuck used for his on-site training: the Art Room, the Fitness Center, and the Studio. They were named for their purpose, mostly, but also to increase confusion should any enemy pick up chatter within the main floors. The facility hidden within the Amulet cost nearly three million dollars, so no risky labeling was going to take place.

The Art room was designed for quickening Chuck's response to weaponry and object-oriented tasks, such as disarming bombs or scaling walls. Of the three rooms, this was the biggest, being nearly a quarter mile in diameter and at least two stories high.

The Fitness Center was designed specifically for Chuck, whereas other agents were allowed use of the Art Room and Studio, only Chuck was permitted access into the Fitness Center. This was due to the sensitive nature of the technology provided to him. The two-dimensional hologram in the center of the room was impossible to fight without the Glasses, which somehow controlled the simulation and allowed Chuck to see his opponent in a three-dimensional state. It could hurt him, and it knew every form of self-defense he knew, though it was slower.

The Studio was the room Chuck found himself in the morning following his first mission back in Burbank. There was a chair in the center of the room, an odd contraption in and of itself had the straps and headgear not have been attached. It sat bolt upright and reminded him eerily of the one Fulcrum had strapped him into under Meadow Branch. In many ways it was softer in appearance than the Fulcrum model; it seemed less imposing, yet still stingy and dogmatic.

The rear of the room had a large one-way glass and the entrance to the room; directly opposite, the far wall had one large screen. The other walls were devoid of décor, opting instead for soundproof walls.

He was alone in the room. Chuck breathed in deeply and swung his arms, not quite sure what he was waiting for.

"You can sit down, Agent Bartowski," said a voice over the intercom. It could have been Agent Brook.

Chuck sat down, obediently. As he did, the chair moved and strapped him down to the chair.

"Whoa," he said, involuntarily. "Is this really necessary?"

The com squeaked. "It's for your own safety."

"That can't be a good sign," Chuck muttered. He had an idea what they were going to use this for.

"We need to debrief the Intersect," said Agent Brook. "Please recite all information each photograph triggers."

* * *

On the other side of the glass, Agent Brook controlled the images on the screen and began the recording device. Next to him, Colonel Casey and Agent Walker sat in front of a sound board wearing headphones, as though they were in a recording studio.

Agent Brook turned off his mic and began the program. It only took a second for Chuck to respond to the first image. His response was catalogued into the computer, and the program proceeded to move through the images.

"What exactly are you looking for?" asked Sarah, watching one of the cameras that was focused on Chuck's face. His eyes were only partially opened and every now and then his head jerked, like he was receiving an overload of information.

"We are extracting information," said Agent Brook, bluntly. "Any operation going on within the CIA and NSA requires some unique intelligence, Agent Bartowski seems to have them all locked up in his head. It is easier to get this information from him than to go through the channels necessary to obtain documentation."

Sarah didn't say anything. It sounded inhumane, to subject a human being to this kind of debriefing, but Agent Brook certainly had a point. How many times had Chuck's intel been invaluable on the fly during missions? If other agents could have as much information as they could before heading into their operation, their chances of success increased dramatically.

Casey removed his headphones and grabbed a clipboard nearby. He scribbled some things down, then rummaged through his bag for something else.

"What is your cover here, Casey?" asked Sarah.

Casey looked up, grinning in his curtly bold way. "Internal affairs." He shrugged. "The possibility of being recognized is low. Bartowski was instructed not to mention his affiliation with me to family and friends."

"So you aren't protecting him in his building?" asked Sarah. She couldn't help but sound concerned. It had always been a relief knowing Casey was only a door away from Chuck, should anything happen to him.

"Nope," said Casey, finally finding the folder he was looking for in his bag. "Only off-site surveillance."

"Excuse me?" asked Sarah, confused.

Casey grunted. "That kid has so much stuff locked up in his head it's necessary for someone to have ears on him at all times, in case a flash occurs. He knows it."

"That sounds…invasive, considering his ability to protect himself now," said Sarah.

Casey raised an eyebrow. "Now you're concerned with his privacy?" He shrugged and looked down at his folder. "It doesn't matter much these days. All he does is sit and stare at that stupid blank screen."

Sarah looked back at the monitor focused on Chuck's face. "Blank screen?"

"Yeah," said Casey. "He sits on his couch and stares at his television, but hasn't turned the thing on since he moved in. Well, with the exception of the Matrix when Ellie and Devon visited."

Agent Brook cleared his throat, removing his own headphones. "Agent Walker, would you excuse us please? There is something I need to discuss with Colonel Casey regarding the mission yesterday."

Sarah stood up, realizing she'd asked too many questions, and left the room. The corridor just outside the Studio was a large loop that linked the three rooms Chuck used the most, the Fitness Center making up the large space within. Circling around to the opposite side was the Art room, equidistant to the studio.

Absently, she reached into her pocket and touched the black disc she'd recovered from Chuck's closet. Now was as good a time as any to figure out what it was. She went through the door nearest to her, which led into the main foyer of the Amulet. The main vestibule was awkwardly shaped, like two semi-circles joined at the curve and stretched in opposite directions. Although the entire complex was underground, she wondered if it had something to do with stabilizing the structure, or if the architects were actually high during the construction phase.

It might be easiest for Sarah to just show the disc to the Intersect, but then she'd have to explain to Chuck where she'd found it. She would first try to determine the type of device it was, if it recorded sound or video, or if it was a sensor. If she could get the information off it, she might be able to avoid awkward questions it would raise not only from Chuck, but from anyone who witnessed the information it was undoubtedly retrieving from his room.

* * *

"Is everything alright, sir?" asked Casey, the moment the door had closed behind Sarah.

"Agent Casey," said Agent Brook, turning in his chair to stare at the much bigger man. "What is your assessment of Agent Walker?"

Casey's eyes flitted from Agent Brook, to the one-way window where Chuck still rambled on about the images presented to him. "She's professional, very capable, an incredible fighter, and knows how to get the job done."

"Do you have hesitations about working with her again?" Agent Brook pressed.

"Not in the slightest," said Casey, without hesitation. "That has been my assessment from the beginning."

"You don't think working so closely with this asset will compromise her dedication to the job?" Agent Brook crossed his arms, unwilling to give up. He was pressing for an answer that Casey seemed unable to confirm.

"No, sir," said Casey, the grunt in his voice a clear indication he found the subject draining, annoying, and completely irrelevant. "Whatever happened between Bartowski and Walker no longer stands in the way of the Intersect Project. They no longer carry on a private relationship."

"So you confirm the two were romantically involved, then?"

Casey did his best not to roll his eyes. "Their cover for over two years was as a long-term couple," said Casey. "Anyone who has to fake something like that for that long goes a little kooky."

Agent Brook swiveled in his chair to watch Chuck through the glass again. "Do you agree with my decision, nevertheless, to keep your individual missions a secret from your partners?"

Casey nodded. "I do, sir. I believe that enlightening them to the intelligence we've obtained would be very dangerous, both for their own safety and for the success of the overall mission."

"Did you find the pictures, yesterday?" asked Agent Brook.

From the file in his lap, Casey flipped several papers over until several photographs slid into his hand. He handed them to Agent Brook, who flipped through them, looking very pleased. "This is excellent work, Colonel Casey," he said. "This confirms much of what we've been suspecting." He laid the pictures in his lap and looked at Casey again. "Why do you think this intelligence would be dangerous to Bartowski and Walker?"

Casey breathed in deeply, his jaw clenched. He hated these questions, they always made him draw on the perception and observation portion of his brain that he tried to suppress as much as he could. "Because Bartowski carried on a relationship with this woman on two different occasions and she betrayed him. Walker, well, whatever her feelings are toward Bartowski at the present doesn't change the fact that Roberts has attempted to kill her, escaped while in her custody, and threatens Bartowski's safety."

"If they knew of Jill Robert's involvement, do you think they would go rogue to hunt her down?" asked Agent Brook, seriously.

Casey thought for a moment. "No, not without a really good excuse."

"Like what?"

"Like inactivity from the CIA," said Casey. "If Jill Roberts has joined the Pound, it should be in our greatest interest to find and apprehend this woman. She not only has intelligence from within the CIA, but also the enemy Fulcrum camp, which makes her an invaluable resource to any competing threat."

Suddenly, the screen monitoring Chuck's vitals began beeping. His pulse spiked and serotonin levels dropped. The men stood up, papers and pictures falling from their laps. Agent Brook began shutting down the machine as Casey rushed into the room to detach Chuck from the machine.

Chuck looked catatonic, sitting upright only due to the head bar holding him. His eyes were open, but his pupils fluttered back into his head. Casey growled and muttered something under his breath, then carefully removed Chuck from the machine and carried him out the door into the hallway. Once through the door to the main vestibule of the Amulet, a medical team met him with a gurney and he laid Chuck on the rolling bed. The boy didn't move.

A moment later the gurney had disappeared from sight and Agent Brook stood next to Casey. "What just happened?" asked Casey.

Agent Brook crossed his arms. "Information overload."

"What?"

Agent Brook put a hand on Casey's back and led him across the main floor to the stairwell on the opposite side. "Very few people can handle the Intersect," he whispered. "It's a powerful computer. But Intersect two point oh is an even more powerful computer than the last one. While Agent Bartowski will be able to handle its full processes at some point, it will take some time."

"So you are just going to crank information out of him until his brain learns to process it more efficiently?" asked Casey, disgusted.

"Essentially…yes," said Agent Brook, honestly. "Agent Bartowski knew what he was getting into when he joined." Casey stopped walking and Agent Brook stopped as well, turning to look at him. "What is it, Colonel?"

"With all due respect, sir, Chuck never asked for this. He was tricked into this, twice," said Casey. The kid might annoy the hell out of him, but in a strange way, he'd grown appreciative of Chuck's insights and talents, even before Intersect 2.0.

"He showed up in Harlington, didn't he?" asked Agent Brook, standing up straight.

"Because you threatened to kill him," said Casey. "Look, sir, I appreciate the extortionate sensitivity of the matter, but the Intersect is in a guy who is prone to emotional outbursts and general insecurity."

Agent Brook crossed his arms and wore a grave frown. "Colonel Casey, do not think the government overestimates the capability of Charles Bartowski to be a successful intersect project."

Casey closed in the gap between them. Standing almost a foot taller than Agent Brook, the large Marine had a ferocity within him at that moment that could not be squelched by his meditative words. The government didn't plan on keeping Chuck around for long. They planned on sucking out as much information as possible while they rebuilt the Intersect in the hope that the intense training would leave Chuck inept, brain dead, or just plain dead.


	5. Making a Mockery of Jealousy

**Chuck vs. the Virus**

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**Chapter 4: Making a Mockery of Jealousy**

Chuck awoke on his bed. He opened his eyes and found the ceiling of his apartment staring back at him. He let his eyes wander around the room, thinking back to his last memory. He'd lived in this apartment for over a week, now, but it still wasn't entirely familiar to him. The lack of familiarity did not help him think back about the last thing he could recall. It was all a little fuzzy.

The clock read 7:12 PM. He sat straight up and kicked his feet off the bed, letting them drop to the wood floor with a thud. He was dizzy already and swayed where he sat.

"What happened to me?" he asked aloud.

His door open and Devon walked in. "Hey bro, you're awake," he said, coming to stand in front of Chuck. He put a hand on Chuck's shoulder and pushed him back into a supine position. "Don't push it, you've been out for several hours."

"Devon? What are you doing here?" Chuck's head pounded now with an ache unlike anything he'd ever experienced.

Devon grinned his boyish smirk, looking excited and endowed. "The CIA called me, bro."

_Why, because he is the only family I have that knows I'm an agent?_ Chuck thought, closing his eyes to try and make the room stop swimming.

Devon pulled up a chair. "They told me what happened to you," said Devon, "the experimental procedure, I mean. They said you need an on-call doctor who doesn't pose a threat to your safety." He chuckled. "I totally get it, too. I mean, I know I'm no secret agent, but dude, I've seen what your people can do and I guarantee you nothing is going to happen to my little bro."

"That's so very kind, Awesome," said Chuck, sarcastically. "But I still don't get why you are here." _Experimental procedure? I wonder if he means the debriefing_. Then Chuck remembered Devon didn't know about the Intersect; the CIA probably gave him an approximate medical match to what the machine had done to him.

"I'm your on-call doctor," said Devon, slowly. "Are you experiencing memory loss?" Devon stood up and bent low over Chuck, opening each lid and flashing a light on his pupils. "Do you feel any numbness in your extremities?"

"Seriously, Devon, I'm fine," said Chuck, swatting Awesome away.

Devon shook his head. "No, dude, you're not. I've seen your charts. Look, no worries, man. Ellie thinks I was flown to San Diego for a consult. I'm here for twenty-four hours to make sure you have no further complications."

"Can you explain to me exactly what's wrong with me?" asked Chuck. "So I, the dim witted CIA agent can understand?"

"Of course," said Devon. "First, do you want anything to eat? Soup? Chicken? I can whip something up quick." As though on cue, Chuck's stomach emitted a tumbling growl. "Right on, bro. Come on, I'll help you to the living room."

Chuck sat and stared at the blank television screen while Devon prepared him some soup. His head felt disconnected from his body, but he began to regain the memory of the morning. The last thing he remembered was reciting information from the Intersect about a General Pike of the U.S. Navy, a man who'd seemed to have gone rogue in the last year along with three fellow lieutenants. Then he remembered jerking, his eyes crunching backwards, and then blackness. Hollow blackness.

The headache was lifting with the onset of memories. For a while, there, it had felt like a portion of his brain had been ripped out; the more likely explanation must be neural surges, or something. Overstimulation of the brain.

There was a knock at the door. Chuck groaned. He really hoped that wasn't Casey or Brook with an urgent request for him to perform Intersect duties. He'd been a willing participant in everything the CIA had subjected him to thus far, it seemed only reasonable that they cut him a little break when his brain was, almost literally, fried.

He got up, since he assumed Devon didn't hear the knock, and went to open the door. Sarah stood on the other side.

"Hi Chuck," she said, smiling. "How are you feeling?"

"Sarah, hi," said Chuck, surprised. "I'm fine, yeah. I just woke up a couple minutes ago. I guess I've been out for a while."

"That's what they said," Sarah said, nodding. "I had stepped out when you collapsed, and didn't hear about it until almost an hour ago. Are you sure you're okay? You don't look so well."

Chuck shook his head and brushed a hand through the air. "I'm fine, I don't really know what's wrong with me. Awesome is going to explain it…"

"Awesome? Your brother-in-law is here?" She looked inside, beyond Chuck.

"Uh, yeah, he's making me some soup," said Chuck, offhandedly. "I guess he's my private physician now." He caught her eye, then, and something passed between them. She looked curious, almost confused.

From the other room, Devon's voice rang through the air. "Hey Chuck, I almost forgot. A chick called for you while you were out, man." Devon walked into the room, holding a piece of paper. Without looking up, he read off the paper. "Heather Burrows. Dude, are you dating already…?" When Devon looked up and saw Sarah standing in the doorway, and Chuck making silent cut-it-out facial expressions, his voice faded. "He-hey Sarah," he said, his voice wavering. He cleared his throat. "What brings you around…?"

Sarah looked up at Chuck and they gazed at each other for a long moment. "I'm sorry to have bothered you," she said, seeming embarrassed. "I'll be going now."

"Sarah," said Chuck, following her into the hall. "Come on, Sarah. Wait." But she didn't wait. She walked down the hall quickly and turned into the stairwell. Chuck slunk back inside the apartment and shut the door.

"Whoa," said Devon, putting up his hands. "Bro, I am so sorry. I totally didn't hear the door."

Chuck shook his head. "It's fine, Devon, seriously," he said. "Sarah was going to have to…find out about Heather…eventually."

Devon walked closer to Chuck. "Are you seriously dating again, Chuck?"

"What do you mean, again?" asked Chuck.

"You and Sarah," said Devon. "Obviously."

Chuck sighed deeply and shook his head. "Sorry to break it to you, Captain, but everything between Sarah and I was strictly professional. We were only dating as a cover, a reason for her to be around me as much as she needed to be."

Devon scoffed. "Dude, whatever. You were totally in love with her."

"Nope," said Chuck, walking back to the couch. He plopped down and sprawled out. "Not only does the CIA frown on inter-agency dating, but, come on, Sarah? She's totally not my type."

"Uh huh," said Devon, joining Chuck on the couch. "And what exactly is your type? Backstabbers?"

"No."

"Emotionally unavailable?"

"No."

"Come on, Chuck. I'm family. You can tell me." Devon elbowed Chuck lightly on the arm.

"I just know Sarah's not my type, okay?" said Chuck. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the couch. It felt better this way. But even when he closed his eyes he saw Sarah. It was only Sarah. She was his only type.

"Alright, okay," said Devon. He got up off the couch. "If you don't want to talk about it I understand. I'll get our soup."

* * *

"Glad to see you are back on your feet, Agent Bartowski," said General Beckman. She sat in her office, as she always did, projected on the large screen in 22B. "Unfortunately, we don't have time for you to take your time recovering. The Pound has just made a deal with one of our undercover agents in Brazil and he is in need of Intersect 2.0."

"Which, of course, he doesn't know exists," said Casey, sounding like he was suggesting the possibility rather than stating a fact.

"No," said Beckman. "He believes agents who specialize in Brazilian weaponry and self-defense are coming to his aid."

Agent Brook rounded the small group from where he stood in the back. In the center of the room, Sarah sat at a computer with Casey directly behind her. Chuck sat on a swivel chair in front of the desk, looking relaxed.

"My doctor has given me a clean bill of health, General," said Chuck, reassuring them all. "Chuck 2.0 is ready for action."

"That's good to hear," said Agent Brook. "Because Agent Kipper needs serious backup. He is the only agent we sent to infiltrate a Rio de Janiero weapons gang. This gang has been on a terror-alert list since late 2002. Now, since he's taken command of the gang, he's been able to get into contact with Pound."

The name Agent Kipper registered with the Intersect. Jacob Kipper, young agent of Native American descent, spent five years in the Navy as a weapons specialist before accepting undercover jobs. He's used nearly a hundred aliases and currently goes by The Claw. His photographs portrayed him very dark, with the classically beautiful reddish tint, and long black hair. Chuck blinked as his brain processed the information.

"Bartowski, anything you want to add to that?" asked Casey, noticing Chuck's flash.

"Weapons specialist…Navy…alias is The Claw," said Chuck. "Probably everything that's in his CIA file." He grinned, then, and looked up at Agent Brook. "The Intersect is so much more proficient than Google." Sarah and Casey chuckled behind him, but Brooke's stone cold look did not waver.

"We need the Intersect to be at the exchange to identify known criminals and to provide support for culturally specific defense," said Agent Brook. "Because Agent Kipper has lived with the gang for two years and has integrated himself into the network, he understands the weaponry of the area. We do not have time to train agents to support him, so you three will be joining the gang to provide it. Agent Bartowski will access the Intersect to provide direct backup and Agent Walker and Colonel Casey will be there to ease the integration of new members before the exchange."

Chuck was noticing some holes, or maybe trouble spots, in the plan, but he decided to let his superiors continue to speak. He knew they disliked it when he interjected, but he wasn't exactly sure how they could correct the problem he was foreseeing.

"Agent Kipper reported that the gang acquires new members in groups of two or three," said General Beckman. "One person acquisitions scare them. You leave this afternoon and will be in Rio two days before the meet."

Chuck raised his hand. Beckman had only answered part of his concern. Agent Brook rolled his eyes in annoyance at this gesture by Chuck at turned away. General Beckman gave the agent an odd look, then nodded at Chuck to speak.

"Couple things. First, why would the gang bring new people in just days before a big exchange? Doesn't that seem a little suspicious?" Chuck asked, looking from the General to Casey and Sarah.

"Colonel?" asked Beckman, allowing Casey to take the reigns.

Casey shrugged. "I would assume it is because they kill off members before a big trade like this and need new bodies, fresh and scared, ready to do whatever they can to make sure everything goes smoothly." He winked at Chuck. "It's what I would do."

"Such a relief," Chuck muttered. "Okay, second question. Why does this have to be an infiltration and not an observation? If all I need to do is ID the bad guys, why risk our identities through involvement?"

"We considered that," said General Beckman, "but Pound is intelligent. As you gathered from the infiltration of the Russian Consulate, they have a mole or an insider. Agent Kipper is a valuable intelligence operative and the work he's done in Rio has been crucially vital to stabilizing foreign weapons trade."

Agent Brook turned to rejoin the conversation, looking less annoyed. "Should anything go wrong, we want you there as a part of the gang instead of as a third party. A third party would raise suspicions on both ends and threaten Agent Kipper's cover."

Chuck nodded. That made perfect sense. He wondered why they wouldn't have just said all that to begin with.

"Why are we going to be there for two days prior to the meet?" asked Sarah. Chuck turned his head to look at her through the corner of his eye. She was looking intentionally at the General.

"Primarily to establish your cover with Wallstreet," said General Beckman. "But also because we have another project for the Colonel."

Wallstreet. Chuck blinked and a severe onset of information took hold of him. He felt himself slump in his chair as several hundred images of deaths, catastrophes, and stolen passports crossed in front of his eyes. Responsible for assassinations all across Brazil and several very public unnatural disasters. The 1998 bombing of El Carto, the largest library in Rio.

"Chuck?" Sarah pushed her chair back and rushed to Chuck's chair. Casey followed close behind her and was able to catch Chuck before his limb body slunk to the ground.

Casey stabilized him and pressed two fingers to Chuck's throat. "He's fine," said Casey. "Pulse is normal."

Sarah slapped Chuck's face. "Chuck, wake up."

Chuck sat bolt upright, bonking heads with Sarah. They both cried out and gripped their heads. "Oh, oh," said Chuck, reaching out to touch Sarah's shoulder. "I'm so sorry. So sorry. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," said Sarah, stepping back. She took her hand away, a small red circle was evident on her forehead. "Are you okay? What did you see?"

Chuck gulped, still feeling dazed. "These are bad, bad people. Agent Kipper must be the longest running member because according to reports, no member stays alive for more than eight months. They blew up that library in 1998, assassinated the head of state in 1986. They've been trading illegal weapons since before the end of World War II."

"General, how has this gang survived this long and why don't we just take them out?" asked Casey.

"Because we've had control of their operations for several months and are now able to reduce casualties by turning them into dealers, instead of extremists. By using their international contacts, we've been able to locate and destroy several burgeoning, or otherwise, terrorist threats," said Agent Brook. "It has been a valuably necessary evil."

General Beckman shuffled her papers, preparing to end the briefing. "Your cover stories will be provided to you as you leave for the airport. You have the ten hour flight to Rio to prepare. This time you will be entering as a team and should be prepared for interrogation upon arrival."

The team looked at one another, nodding in understanding. Chuck couldn't help thinking how cool it all sounded. And now that he was actually able to defend himself, it should be more like a real mission, he really was going somewhere to protect someone.

"One more thing," said General Beckman. "Agent Kipper requested that if a female agent is assigned to the task force that she be given the cover as a married woman for additional security purposes. So, Agents Bartowski, Walker, you will be married for this assignment."

The screen went blank and from somewhere behind them, Agent Brook excused himself as Chuck, Sarah, and Casey still stared at the empty space in front of them.

"You know that this situation wouldn't be so awkward if you two hadn't insisted on…you know…" Casey made a crude gesture with his hands, chuckled, and walked away. "I call dibs on weapon detail." He left the room, still chuckling.

Chuck sent a disgusted face in his general direction, and then turned to Sarah, who was giving him a bemused look. He gave her a goofy, innocent smile, then shrugged. "Maybe we should get started on that paperwork," he said, nodding his head toward the desk.

"That's a great idea," said Sarah.

"Casey's probably right," said Chuck, looking at the door where Casey had disappeared through. "I mean, it was rude the way he said it…but it's only awkward because, well, we're taking it negatively." Sarah cocked her head to look at him, as though she was asking him whether being married to one another would be a negative thing. "I only mean…" Chuck went on, "we should be seeing that this is the best way to ensure your safety, cover all our bases, and maximize the possibility for success."

Sarah looked surprised by his comment, but didn't say anything. They sat down across from one another and began sifting through the small pile of paperwork and intel provided by Agent Kipper.

A couple minutes passed before Sarah said anything. "So…" she said, glancing up at Chuck. "Heather Burrows?"

Chuck looked at the security camera in the corner of the room through the corner of his eye. If he had learned one thing in the last three years it was that someone was always watching. He caught her eye and tried to gauge what his response should be. She didn't look upset or angry, just interested, like she was trying to make casual conversation.

"Yeah, Heather," said Chuck, breathing in deeply. "You know, just someone I met. No biggie." Sarah pursed her lips, holding something back. "What?" asked Chuck.

"Nothing," she said, looking back down at her papers.

"You want to say something," said Chuck,

Sarah shook her head, but without looking up she spoke anyway. "What's she like?"

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Do you really want to know?"

Sarah looked at him without moving her head up much, shrugging. "If we're going to work together, we've got to push through the awkward phase."

Chuck considered this for a moment. "Alright, we can do that," he said. "Heather…" He continued to look through his papers as he spoke, like he knew the woman so well he didn't have to give it much thought. "Heather is incredible. Smart, easy-going. A little on the secretive side, but, hey, who isn't, right?" He grinned. "Um, I don't know. I met her, or rather, re-met her, during my last couple weeks at Harlington. I think she'd always been there, but I hadn't really _seen_ her."

Sarah bit her lip. "Is she pretty?"

Chuck stared at Sarah, long and hard. "Beautiful," he said.

* * *

"_You do see where all this is going, don't you?" Sarah asked. She sat at the kitchen table in one of Chuck's t-shirts, a cup of coffee in front of her. _

_Chuck walked back into the room, shirtless. "What, you and me?"_

"_Well, yeah, I guess that too," said Sarah. "You know that they know about us. And they probably know that we know that they know about us."_

"_Oh," said Chuck, leaning against the wall. "Right." He watched her for a moment. "Can they really fire us for something like this?"_

_Sarah pushed her coffee cup away from her. "They can fire me," said Sarah. "You are the Intersect. So no, they can't fire you."_

_The last two months of Chuck's training had relied heavily on his handlers. Both Casey and Sarah had assisted him in nearly all of his sessions and role-playing scenarios. The CIA was unwilling to bring more people into the circle of knowledge regarding Chuck's upgrade unless absolutely necessary, so Chuck's undercover training was, in itself, an undercover operation. He had to accomplish all his tasks without drawing attention to the fact he was an abnormally specialized, talented, and knowledgeable asset._

_At first everything had run smoothly. The Intersect functioned well for Chuck, even if it was temperamental and dangerous at times. He'd broken several agents' hands and bruised Sarah's ribs, completely unintentionally. But his emotional involvement with Sarah was becoming problematic, and they both noticed it._

_Just last week, Sarah had pointed out that his unwillingness to face her in combat was a liability to keeping their relationship a secret. But there was little Chuck could change about that; he'd nearly broken her ribs, he didn't want to consider the possibility of something worse. Even the CIA knew that Chuck's abilities had the potential to really injure other agents._

_But rumors flew, and not in the he-said, she-said way; in a way that chided his ability to be an active government asset. His superiors had their suspicions about the private relationship he was carrying on with Sarah, but since they never publicly displayed their romantic involvement, accusations were negligible._

_That was until Sarah became unwilling to complete her own mission until Chuck's safety was ensured. They had gone on a controlled, yet real-world mission two days ago, in which they were simply required to acquire a shipment of drugs being passed from foreign to domestic dealers in south Boston. As Chuck was being held at gunpoint, panicking because1 the Intersect wasn't equipping him to get out of the situation, Sarah disregarded the exchange of the shipment in order to save Chuck._

_It had always been Sarah's instinct to protect the Intersect before completing a mission, as it seemed like the amount of intelligence within the one man was of greater significance than missing one shipment of drugs. But, according to her orders, this was a direct violation of protocol and she exhibited behaviors of disobedience and recklessness. Now there was to be a hearing regarding this breach of protocol where their relationship was surely to be addressed._

"_I guess I don't know what you're saying," said Chuck, after a moment of silence. He walked to the table and sat down across from her. "Are you saying you want to split up?"_

_Sarah looked at him, reserved. "Look, Chuck, you know how I feel about you. I think that's clear." She watched him closely as she continued, speaking slowly, carefully. "And there's no _but_ to that statement. It's just that a relationship between two spies is just…hard, unpredictable…messy."_

"_I suppose," said Chuck. "Honestly, since I haven't been a spy all that long, I find it hard to really match your own level of knowledge. But I trust you. I know you have your limits."_

_Sarah sat back in her chair, looking frustrated. "That's just it, Chuck. I don't want to have limits. I've spent the last ten years living as so many different people in so many different places…" She smiled. "And then I met you, and really…you're perspective on life and love, you changed me, Chuck. You showed me how simple it is for somebody to want something and have no fear about finding a way to get it."_

_Chuck squinted his eyes and raised an eyebrow, looking incredibly confused. "Okay, what I'm hearing, here, is 'Chuck, I love you, but we need to break up.'" He opened his eyes. "Am I right?"_

_Sarah smirked. "Only partially."_

"_Please, enlighten me with your ingenious plan," he said, crossing his arms._

"_Do you trust me?" asked Sarah, getting to her feet._

"_You know I do," said Chuck._

"_Then hear me out," said Sarah. She took Chuck by the hand and led him to the couch. When he was sitting down, Sarah retrieved a box that had been sitting on a corner table. It was familiar, but Chuck had never really paid much attention to it before. "Alright, first, we know that they know we're involved. That means they know we know they won't allow us to work together anymore."_

_Chuck nodded. "And if they don't allow us to work together, they'd most likely give you a new cover in a new place."_

"_Right," said Sarah, sitting down next to Chuck. She held the box on her lap. "Second, we know that they don't want to spend the time training someone else to take my place, or Casey's place for that matter. They might not admit it outright, but they would certainly do whatever they can to make our team stick together."_

"_But they would do it if they thought our relationship compromised our ability to do our job," said Chuck, resentfully._

"_Maybe. Well, no, probably. Before they outright fire me, however, as they conveniently avoided doing when the 49B came, they would give me a choice: our personal relationship or the job."_

_Clearly, Sarah had thought this through, but Chuck still wasn't sure where she was going with the idea. He stayed silent to hear her out._

"_My theory is that they are likely, in the end, to force us to work together if we break up, thinking that we will stick to the mission at hand if our resentful feelings for one another are strong enough. Maybe like a, 'Let's get this over with so we don't have to spend more time than is necessary with one another,'" said Sarah. "And I don't care what they say, Chuck, we—you and I, and Casey for that matter—we are a good team, and I know we can be excellent once you've completed your training."_

_Chuck nodded. "I agree."_

"_You are also a very difficult person to work with," said Sarah, looking away briefly. "No offense, sweetie, but when we first began working together I thought I was never going to be able to protect you because you were so untrained, uncoordinated, and unpredictable. As we developed a sense of professional trust, and personal of course, both Casey and I have come to work extremely well with you. The CIA knows it."_

_Chuck scoffed, pretending to be insulted. He wasn't surprised, though, he knew it couldn't be easy for professionals to come in and work with an unwilling civilian. Sarah leaned over and kissed him lightly on the lips. He smiled._

"_Anyway, here is what I propose," said Sarah, taking a deep breath. "I propose we break up. Or, rather, I break up with you." She bit her upper lip, watching his facial expression. Chuck looked very confused._

"_You want to break up just so we can work together?" asked Chuck. "Look, Sarah, if the CIA wants us as a team, they're going to have to take us as is, packaged deal and all. Do you really want to work together, knowing that we really will resent each other at some point?"_

_Sarah shook her head. "No, I really don't. Which brings me to my next point." She cleared her throat. "I break up with you publicly…"_

_Chuck threw up his hands. "Even better…" With the hand not holding onto the box, Sarah covered his mouth. He slumped, frowning, waiting for her to go on._

"_We go to the hearing, let them say whatever they need to say. I break up with you because I am afraid that they will fire me and not reassign me," said Sarah, removing her hand. "Which, of course, means that they feel comfortable keeping me on the team because they think I'm serious about leaving you behind and moving on with my career. Once they've established my loyalty, they won't worry about our partnership."_

_Chuck sat up straight, still looking confused. "Okay, if the tone I'm detecting is anything close to right, I hear you saying that we should create a scenario where we clearly end our relationship, but don't quite in fact end it…just fake it." Sarah nodded, shrugging. "Well, in theory it's a good idea," said Chuck, "but what about in a couple weeks, or months, when they start to suspect something is going on? If we aren't really breaking up, it's not like we can just…stop being us."_

_Sarah grinned. She pulled up her legs so she sat cross-legged facing Chuck. The box in her lap itched to be opened. Slowly, she lifted the lid. Chuck looked inside, apprehensively. What he saw was not at all what he was expecting, though he wasn't quite sure what he was expecting. He removed the contents from the box and Sarah set it aside, watching him closely._

"_Heather Burrows, 27, of South Beach, California," Chuck read off the driver's license. "You propose…setting me up with another woman?"_

_Rolling her eyes, Sarah took the license from him and held it up by her face, putting on the same grin as the woman in the picture. Things were starting to click for Chuck. The woman was Sarah, but totally not at the same time. She had short brown hair, blue eyes, and did her make up in such a way that it made her cheekbones look higher._

_The other papers in his hands were similar, documentation to support this fictional Heather Burrows; a college diploma, a birth certificate, a Social Security card. There were transcripts, individual awards, employer referrals._

"_Wow." He let the papers drape over his lap. She had gone to some lengths to create this identity. "You become someone else?" he asked._

"_Okay, I know this is all really weird and out of the blue," said Sarah, "but I've thought about this a lot in the last couple weeks. Chuck, the only way for us to get what we want is to play their game, but that doesn't work for me. By a public breakup we secure our team for a while longer, but since breaking up is the last thing either of us want to do, we go undercover." She shifted in her spot and grabbed Chuck's hand. "We give you a new girlfriend, or whatever, Heather Burrows, and we utilize the heavy surveillance you are under to sell it."_

"_Except that, in reality, Heather Burrows is…you?" asked Chuck, his mouth dropping._

_Sarah nodded._

"_Sarah, why in the world would you do this?" asked Chuck. "This is way too dangerous. You know how bad I am at lying. Plus, if we're caught…"_

"_Chuck, we can do this. Actually, I know we can do this, and you know why?"_

_Chuck looked up at the ceiling. "Because you've mistaken me for someone else?"_

_Sarah frowned. "No, because if we let them have this one, if we let them win by successfully splitting us up, we lose not only something incredible between us, but we lose another piece of our identities." She gathered the papers up from his lap and tossed them on to the small table in front of the couch. Then she scooted closer to him on the couch, retaking his hand. "Think about it, you go back to L.A. giving everyone the impression you just went through a horrible break up…"_

_Chuck sighed. "And, if I know you at all, won't be hard to react to."_

_Sarah gave him a pointed stare. "And I return to the team, apprehensive and careful, but ready to do the job objectively."_

"_Which you would do even if we didn't have to go through all this," said Chuck, annoyed. "That's what really irks me."_

"_What do you mean?" asked Sarah, raising an eyebrow._

"_Oh, come on, Ms. Modesty," said Chuck, rolling his eyes. "You are incredible at your job. You are smooth, efficient, intelligent, quick-thinking, all the qualities necessary to work with someone like me. And all they see is potential compromising situations."_

"_That's very sweet," said Sarah, smiling softly. "And I don't disagree, I just know how they operate."_

_They stared at one another for several long moments. _

"_So, we're going undercover," said Chuck, finally. Sarah gave him a big grin. "Well, if we're going to make this work…Ms. Heather Burrows, why don't you tell me a little about yourself?"_

_

* * *

  
_


	6. The River of January

**Chuck vs. the Virus**

**Chapter 5: The River of January**

"Honey, have you heard from Chuck?" asked Ellie. Devon had just walked down the hall, clad in his standard tank top and sweatpants. He'd just gotten back from his trip to San Diego and seemed beat.

"Actually, I did," said Devon, wheeling around to face his wife. "He called just before you got back."

Ellie dropped the salad spoons she was using to toss the salad. "What? Why didn't you tell me?"

Devon looked from side to side, wondering why there was such fire in her eyes. "Um, because…he's a big boy, now. What's the big deal, babe?"

She crossed her arms and leaned against the kitchen wall. "He just never calls anymore. We never see him."

Devon lowered his head and looked at her through the top of his eyes. "Aw, are we getting bummed out that ol' Chuck moved out?"

Sighing, Ellie shook her head and walked back to her salad. "No, of course not. I am so thrilled for him and proud of him. It just worries me." She set the salad on the counter and turned to grab a knife to slice the bread. "While he was living here he had Sarah, and even John, who was a little weird, but a friend nonetheless. When we were at his apartment…it just looked like there was no sign of life anywhere."

Devon walked to the counter and sat on a barstool. "He's got a new job," said Devon. "He's probably never home."

Ellie took her time slicing the bread. She looked like she was arguing with herself, without coming to any solid conclusions. "I know, I know," she said finally. "But seeing Sarah again, and thinking about Chuck's room here, it just makes me wonder why he hasn't come back for anything."

"Did you want to do something with his room?" asked Devon.

Ellie shrugged. "No. I mean, if he voluntarily moved his stuff out we could talk about what we should do with it, but we're busy too. Seriously, though, why do you think he hasn't come back for anything? Why doesn't he want his posters, his pictures, clothes…his computer!?"

Laughing, Devon stood up from the stool and reached for the plates and silverware Ellie had grabbed for their meal. "He's growing up and moving on. Isn't that exactly what you wanted for him?"

"Yes, yes," said Ellie. She put the bread into a basket and walked around the partition. Devon set the table. She watched him for a moment before sitting down in her place.

When he had placed a napkin in front of her, he noticed her staring at him. "What is it?"

She sighed deeply. "Everything that makes Chuck…Chuck is in that room, here. What if he's losing himself in this new life?"

Devon leaned down and kissed her lips. "Babe, you're over-thinking this. Chuck is adjusting. He's beginning a new life with new people and new experiences. Once he gets settled I am sure we will see pieces of old Chuck again, you just need to give him time. Chuck is still Chuck, this new life isn't going to change him."

* * *

Charlie Baylor had short blonde hair, combed forward like an out of place 90s rock star. His eyes were deep set and a dark, vivid green, and on his chin a nice five o'clock shadow that could have been there all day, or two years.

"That is the most hideous hair color I have ever seen," said Casey, sitting next to Chuck in terminal 23. He'd been staring at Chuck on and off for the last hour, scowling and rubbing his eyes. "You look like a fool."

Chuck clenched his teeth. "I didn't choose the disguise," said Chuck. "I closed my eyes for thirty seconds and this happened to me."

Next to him, Sarah leaned forward to look at Casey. She had long brown hair and wore frameless glasses. "You are quite something, too, Casey," she said, grinning. "Why'd they choose black for your hair?" Casey growled and turned back to the newspaper in his hands.

According to the briefing they'd received on their way to the airport, Agent Kipper requested certain styles for the incoming operatives based on local customs and perceptions of Americans. From the look of the results, Chuck thought Kipper wanted them to be twenty-first century hippies, stuck in the last years of the previous millennium.

When they'd passed through the metal detectors, the police pulled Casey aside even though he didn't set off the alarm. He looked very imposing in his tight black shirt, revealing his muscular Marine body, and sleek jeans. They kept him in a separate room for nearly ten minutes and when Casey came out he looked so enraged Chuck was very glad he wasn't packing heat.

"Now boarding flight 971, LAX to Rio de Janeiro," said the voice over the local intercom. Chuck turned his head to look at the terminal door. People were beginning to gather their things. "All first class passengers may now board."

Casey shoved his newspaper into his bag. "Well, that's us," he whispered, slapping Chuck on the back of the head.

"Oh, thanks for that," said Chuck. He stood up, having not taken anything out, and Sarah closed her magazine. "Is this what it's always like flying without CIA transport?"

"I guess so," said Sarah. "I haven't done it much myself."

Casey led them to the line. There were only a handful of first class passengers. Unlike the others, Casey, Chuck, and Sarah were considerably dressed down. The three men ahead of them had suits and ties on, one woman wore a long, black dress, and the man behind Sarah wore a nice, blue sweater and khakis.

Sarah was most out of character in her attire. The CIA had dressed her in a short leather coat over a long, dark red tank top, tight, ankle-fitting jeans and black combat boots. She was absolutely adorable, but looked less like herself than Chuck could have imagined. He himself was uncharacteristically dangerous-looking. In light his bleached blonde hair, which he was afraid might be permanent for a while, he thought the CIA had found a picture of Spike, from the old TV show _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_, and chose that style. Even Casey's look mimicked the classic style of James Marsters. Chuck wore a slightly-too big, deep red dress shirt and tight black slacks.

The woman accepting passes eyed the small group suspiciously. It was strict standard, Chuck knew, for first class passengers to dress nicely. They were making a statement. From all the Intersect knew, the members of Wallstreet weren't just cautious, they were paranoid extremists. They didn't want to just know about another person's loyalty, they wanted to see it. From the moment they stepped off the plane in Rio, they would be expected to sell their covers as thoroughly as possible.

Chuck let Sarah go ahead of him, between he and Casey, and took her carry-on while she rummaged in her purse for her pass. She pulled it out and tried to smile politely at the attendant. The attendant's eyes widened as she looked at the wedding band on Sarah's hand when she accepted the pass; her face seemed to soften.

"My dear, that is a beautiful ring," she said, smiling broadly. She looked up at Chuck, with an admiring grin.

"Thank you," said Sarah, taking her pass back. She looked back at Chuck, who shrugged. "Sweetie, do you need me to take those?" she asked, nodding toward the bags in his hand.

Chuck handed her bag back to her and reached into his back pocket for his pass. His ring was also clearly visible and the attendant, now completely heart warmed, pressed a hand to her chest when she handed him his pass back.

"You kids have a safe flight now," she said.

In order to sell it, Chuck wrapped an arm around Sarah's waist and led her into the terminal. Once out of sight they separated, walking quickly. Chuck wiped the sloppy grin off his face as they boarded the plane. The flight attendants smiled and greeted them, and as they rounded the corner into first class, Chuck saw Casey waiting for them by their seats. He took Sarah's bag from her and stuffed it into the overhead, and then did the same with Chuck's. Sarah took the window seat, and Chuck waited for Casey to take the middle.

Casey looked from Chuck to Sarah, shaking his head. "No way," he said. "I am not sitting between you two."

"Come on, man," said Chuck, avoiding Sarah's gaze. "I'll let you sleep on me."

"No."

"You can have my meal?" Chuck offered.

Casey grunted, but shook his head. "No."

"My kidney?"

"I don't want your scrawny ass kidney."

Chuck rolled his eyes and gave up, sitting down next to Sarah in the middle seat. Though the seats were spacious and comfortable, he would have preferred not having to sit next to her for fifteen hours.

The next few people who walked in eyed the threesome with interest, including the two first class passengers who had been in line behind them. As they passed, they cocked their heads, trying to get a glimpse of Sarah's ring, at least that's what Chuck assumed. Casey grimaced and turned his head toward the now unhappy looking couple.

"Look, you two are supposed to be posing as a married couple," said Casey, in a very low whisper. "What if there are Wallstreet members on this plane? You can't drop the cover now."

Chuck smiled at him, condescendingly, and without looking at Sarah, wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She reached over with her hand and set it on the inside of his knee, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"I hate you," said Chuck, still looking at Casey.

"I don't care," said Casey, looking away.

It took another half hour for the rest of the passengers to file on and get seated. Chuck only partially paid attention to those getting on the plane and, instead, tried to focus on his center and not think about Sarah's fingers, which were now playing with the folded fabric of Chuck's pants. He found himself giving in to the moment as well, stroking her hair with the hand still wrapped around her shoulders. Casey hadn't glanced back at them since he'd scolded them for not properly playing their cover.

To take his mind off the moment, Chuck went over the mission in his head.

"Once on the ground in Rio, you will be completely alone," Agent Brook had said, as the team received their makeovers. "We cannot risk the kind of surveillance we have here, though we will be able to monitor you remotely. The watches you were given are equipped with vital monitors that can alert us if any abnormal bodily changes occur. It won't set off an alarm if you are running, per say, but it would register atypical heart beats that might occur if you were poisoned."

Chuck looked at his watch. It looked nothing like his other, CIA watch. This one was almost silver, but more of a dull charcoal overlay. Underneath the watchcase there were subtle, rubber sensors, and within the circuit board of the spring bar there were undetectable wireless transmitters that could relay the information back to the United States team in charge of tracking and monitoring the mission.

"Kipper is sending a crew of three men to retrieve you from the airport," General Beckman had informed them, twenty minutes prior to departure from the Amulet. "They will recognize you, but just in case they will be holding a sign that says, _BAYLORS._"

"Is Casey not joining us?" asked Sarah.

"I don't understand your question, Agent Walker," said the General.

"I mean, why are they just retrieving Chuck and I?" asked Sarah, clarifying.

"Haven't you read your covers yet?" asked General Beckman. "The relationships between you three are outlined very carefully in your briefing manuals."

"Sarah and I read over ours, yes. Casey has been helping prepare the equipment," said Chuck, jumping to Sarah's defense.

General Beckman looked annoyed. "Casey is posing as your cousin, Chuck. A family of criminals is appealing to the Wallstreet gang. Therefore, John Baylor will be there as the primary front man, technically the leader of your small team."

Sarah and Chuck exchanged a look, now understanding. Covers confused Chuck in general, but he felt like he was getting better at them. He tried to stop thinking about himself as the guy who is in way over his head and start thinking like a spy, someone who can be ready to be anyone at anytime.

Chuck was wrenched back into the present when the flight attendant's voice came over the intercom. "Thank you for your patience, passengers. We are now preparing to depart from the terminal and begin our fifteen hour and twenty minute flight to Rio de Janeiro. The skies look clear so far, but we ask that for the first hour everyone remain seated and buckled. The pilot will let you know when it is okay to move around. Please turn your attention to the attendant nearest you for a quick demonstration of plane protocol."

Sarah sat up and Chuck removed his arm from around her. Casey straightened in his chair looking at Chuck through the corner of his eye. They sat through the presentation of how to properly buckle a seatbelt, what all the lights and buttons meant around them, and how to use the barf bag.

Once they were in the air, Casey handed them each their manual, made to look like small novels, and they set to work on memorizing all they could before arrival. Similar to his manual that was given to him en route to Russia, the first several pages were an explanation of the mission, details to enhance his own cover, and information about the area they would be staying in. The next batch of information was given in code words, each of which registered in varying degrees within the Intersect. Chuck supposed that instead of rewriting everything he needed to know, the CIA chose to give him the hints that would automatically download the information from the Intersect.

Something Chuck had noticed over the last three plus months with the new Intersect was an increased aptitude for retaining information. He'd always had a high IQ and was able to process and manage several compounds of data, but the ease with which this Intersect downloaded the information made it possible for him to retain non-native data, or data that he had not technically learned, but had been imbued with.

The words looked normal, like he was actually reading a novel, but he'd been instructed to scan the paragraphs instead of reading them directly. He'd tried to read them directly when on the plane to Russia, but the story had made little sense. When he began scanning, he saw that his subconscious allowed the Intersect to take over and pick up on the code hidden within the text. Keywords caused him to flash on different types of weapons, different cultures, profiles of individuals suspected of being involved, and historically significant information pertaining to the area and to the Wallstreet gang itself.

About two and a half hours into the flight, Chuck felt his head beginning to sway. The amount of information he was downloading was giving him a headache and making his stomach feel queasy. Sarah looked over at him.

"Are you alright?" she whispered.

Chuck closed his eyes. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine," she said, reaching up to feel his forehead. "Oh, wow. You are burning up."

Casey sat forward, looking at Chuck full in the face. "What is it?"

"Take off his watch," said Sarah, digging through her purse. "Dang it. Can you get my bag from the overhead?"

Casey slid off the watch and unbuckled to get Sarah's bag. "I'm fine, guys, really," said Chuck, leaning his head back against the seat. Except now that Sarah had told him he was burning up, he felt nausea sweep in. His eyebrows and neck began to sweat.

The bag was a moderate in size and specifically designed for undercover agents to transport emergency equipment. As these bags crossed under the scanning belt at security, the on-duty security guards could recognize code phrases or images imprinted within the bag. They would stop the belt, plug in the confirmation code authorizing the bag, and allow the bag to proceed.

Sarah drew out an epi pen. Had Chuck's eyes been opened, he might have not been able to stomach the needle going in to his thigh. But his head was spinning so that he only felt a slight pinch as the needle went in.

It took a couple minutes, but the adrenaline took effect. Chuck's breathing returned to normal and, before he completely recovered, Casey slid the watch back on his wrist. In another moment, Chuck's eyes opened and he took a deep breath.

"Whoa," he said. "What happened?"

"You tell us," Casey said, grunting.

Sarah picked Chuck's manual up off the ground and flipped through it. "I was just prepping," said Chuck. "I don't know why my brain is suddenly unable to handle that amount of information." Sarah handed the manual to Casey, who also flipped through it.

"Have you been downloading information ever since you opened this?" asked Casey.

"Not exactly," said Chuck. "The first twenty pages are an in-depth look at the mission, training reminders, government protocols. The next hundred pages were all the keywords."

Casey shut the manual, but didn't give it back to Chuck. "I think you need to get some rest," said Casey. "Don't overdo it before we get there."

Chuck raised an eyebrow. When had Casey taken a personal interest in his well-being? He studied his face for a moment, and there was something different. Chuck saw the typical tight jaw frown, slightly parted lips, and narrowed eyes. Even his usual growl seemed to be emitting from somewhere inside of him. But something was off.

"What is your secret special mission, anyway, Casey?" asked Chuck. "Why are you being given a mission apart from us?"

If possible, Casey's eyes narrowed even further. "It wouldn't be a secret mission if I told you, would it?"

"I suppose not," said Chuck. "It still doesn't feel right."

"Remember what I said in Moscow, Chuck?" said Sarah. Chuck turned his head to look at her. "It's not that you don't have the right to know, it's just that sometimes when you do know it compromises the mission."

Chuck rolled his eyes. He hated his own liability. "Right. The less I know, the better I do," he grumbled.

Casey gave them a look. "So, you trust her but not me?" He looked suspicious.

"I can trust her without liking her very much," said Chuck, frowning at Casey. "I am capable of putting a mute button on my emotions."

Casey grunted. "I never thought I'd see the day."

"Don't get me wrong, it frustrates me to the hilt, but in our three years of partnership, you've never steered me wrong," said Chuck. He saw Casey glance at Sarah, giving her a look he couldn't quite read.

"Go to sleep," said Casey.

"I'm fine," said Chuck, crossing his arms. "Can I have my book back?"

"No, go to sleep," Casey said, pushing his head back. "We'll wake you in a couple hours."

Chuck sat up straight again. "I don't need to sleep. I am fine. Seriously, what's the big deal?"

Casey growled, and before Chuck could react, he pulled something out of his own bag and pressed his thumb to Chuck's throat. Chuck was out in seconds.

"Did you have to do that?" asked Sarah, guiding Chuck's unconscious body so he leaned against her instead of slumping forward.

"You are acting weird," said Casey, narrowing his eyes. "What is going on with you two?"

Sarah gave him a curt look. "What do you mean?"

"You've been walking on eggshells around him for the last week," said Casey, "and he's hardly given you the time of day."

Sarah looked at Casey over Chuck's head, breathing in the scent of Chuck's recently dyed hair. It didn't smell anything like him, but his cologne was just strong enough to bring her back to a familiar place.

"It's no secret what went down in Harlington," said Casey. "I witnessed it first hand. I saw the look on this kid's face when you tore out his heart."

Sarah caught her breath. "That's putting it harshly."

Casey shook his head. "You had to have known that if you broke it off with him, Beckman and Brook would put you back on the case. Personal relationships always threaten upper management." Casey put up his hands and shrugged. "I get it, Walker. You chose the job. I respect you for that."

"I chose the job because I would have been fired if we didn't break up," said Sarah, through clenched teeth. "I thought they would find our personal relationship too compromising to ever let us work together again."

"You know, Walker, I defended you every single time anyone questioned your loyalty, and every time the question of your relationship with the asset came up, and every time someone asked about your capability of protecting the asset. I have no doubt you can protect Chuck, but I've got to tell you now, you have to sever personal ties with him." His face didn't quite soften, but it certainly emanated a different aura. Sarah felt herself recoil from the ice of his glare. "No more checking up on him after he's collapsed. No more worrying about if he can handle a mission. Push him to his limits and force him to do his job."

They both stared at Chuck for a couple moments in silence. Sarah felt embarrassed, Casey was breathing hard, almost dizzy from defending someone he didn't even like all that much.

"Do you think I'm holding him back?" asked Sarah.

Casey thought about it for a moment. "You're only holding him back when you stop him doing what he is capable of accomplishing." He leaned back in his seat. "I saw it all the time in combat. Whenever my men excessively protected the rookies, the rookies began to rely on that protection and it caused them to develop a false perception of combat." He scowled. "We've both been good for the kid to learn the ropes, but if he can't jump in with both feet now, we might as well hand him over to the enemy."

* * *

The tranquilizer wore off with three hours left in the flight. The plane had just hit some turbulence and the flight attendant's voice came over the intercom to request everyone fasten seat belts. Somewhere in the distance, Chuck heard the voice. He felt warm and comfortable, though his head ached a little. He coughed, breathed in deeply, and smacked his lips.

A soft hand slid down his arm and intertwined with his own. It made him think of pancakes and the cold kitchen floor. He smiled and rolled his head to look at Sarah.

Forgetting momentarily that Sarah's appearance had been altered, Chuck's heart rate quickened and he took in a sharp breath, nearly jumping in his seat. Most of the lights in the cabin were out, making her disguise even more severe. Then he saw her, behind the brown hair, wearing a bemused smile.

"I guess we can say the disguise is good, hmm?" said Sarah in a whisper, leaning forward and placing a light kiss on his lips.

Chuck raised an eyebrow and slowly turned to look at Casey. The man was so fast asleep he was snoring. Understanding, and relief, swept over Chuck and he felt himself relax.

"Come on, do you think I'd give up our gimmick that easily?" she asked, looking at him pointedly.

Chuck shook his head. "I was just very out of it."

"Yeah, I noticed. What were you thinking about right before you opened your eyes? You had a huge smile," she said. She reached up and touched his hair, then slid a finger down the side of his face.

Chuck smiled again. "Remember the morning after my first physical test? You made me pancakes…" he whispered, lowering his head and resting it on the seat right in front of her head.

"…and we ended up cavorting on the floor?" said Sarah, grinning. She kissed him again, this one lasting longer. "How could I forget?"

"I think those were the best pancakes I ever had," said Chuck.

"You didn't even eat any," said Sarah, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, I had a little," he said, brushing his nose against hers. She grinned. Her eyes were a different shade, and though he wasn't used to seeing that color as he looked into her eyes, he still felt like they suited her in that moment. She let her fingers dance on his hand, outlining the contour of his fingers. He lost himself in the moment.

After some time, her face became more serious, and Chuck tilted his head upward, looking around to see if someone had seen them. "What is it?"

Sarah shook her head. "I just need to talk to you about something, and preferably before Casey wakes up again."

Chuck nodded. "Okay, shoot."

"Look, I know you are relatively new to all this, but I also know that you are dedicated and hardworking and want to succeed. The new intersect has increased your abilities as a spy and you are adapting very well, despite only being active for…not very long." She paused. "There is a lot that is going to change when we are in the field together, much because you have greater resources at your disposal, but also because there will be eyewitnesses that expect an element of change between us."

"You mean like instead of you saving my life all the time, I need to step forward and help out?" asked Chuck.

"Yes, exactly," she said, seriously. "I am not the front man anymore. You took out eleven guns barely two minutes after you downloaded the new intersect. The way I saw you operate all through your training was impeccable and reassures me that we are doing the right thing. We work well together, but we also have to work on our cover."

"How do you mean?" asked Chuck. "I thought we were doing fine. Casey had to force us to be affectionate."

"Yeah, and I think we played it well," she said. "But I'm thinking more around the Amulet. Casey pointed out to me that I'm _walking on eggshells_ around you at work. And, well, I guess I am. I need to revert back to my old way of doing things, and you need to be more resentful of me."

Chuck looked confused. "What?"

Sarah shrugged. "It wouldn't hurt for you to be curt with me more often. I mean, from everyone else's perspective, I broke your heart and embarrassed you publicly. You are an emotional and confrontational person, Chuck. It's not always a bad thing, but it certainly defines who you are. You don't have to lose all that."

Looking away, Chuck chose to stare at the back of his seat. His fingers were still linked through Sarah's, but his mind went to other portions of his training. Everyone told him that in order to do his job he had to be cold and calculated, detached, and unemotional. He didn't necessarily consider himself _delicate_, but he knew his limitations when it came to accomplishing the same tasks as Sarah and Casey. He still didn't know if he could shoot to kill, if confronted with the situation.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked, resting her chin on his shoulder.

"Living a double life has its manageable challenges, but this triple life is beginning to seem harder than I originally imagined," whispered Chuck.

Sarah sighed. "It's worth it, though, right? You aren't having second thoughts?"

Chuck shook his head. "Oh, no, no, no. I am totally and completely on board, you don't know how entirely on board I am."

"Good. Then there's one more thing," she said, shifting so her body was turned more directly at him. "I know you have a tendency to become distracted and insecure while in the field. Whether that has to do with me, or whatever…I don't know." Chuck looked away, feeling embarrassed. She grabbed his face and turned it back to face her. "Hey, it's not a bad thing. You just don't have the same training." She put a hand through his hair and leaned her forehead against his. "And you know that's what made me fall for you in the first place, Chuck. You're unique, quirky, and full of innocent ignorance of a world that has corrupted so many good people."

"Okay, okay," said Chuck, "I get it, go on."

She laughed. "Okay. Keep in mind that while we are in the field in Rio that situations may occur when we have to deviate from the original plan. Remember Meadow Branch?"

Chuck shuddered. "How could I forget?"

"It might not always be exactly like that, but you have to be prepared to go undercover while undercover. We need to get our jobs done and protect our country before each being concerned about other's feelings. You have to be ready to improvise, exaggerate, and make people believe whatever they need to." She held his gaze, waiting for him to respond. He felt his words get lost in his mouth, none of them very suiting for the situation.

She craned her neck upward to kiss him again. He kissed her back, pressing his lips harder against hers. "We'll always have this, though," she said, in between the kiss. "We will always remember what we have after our work is done." Chuck nodded and moved his hand to her neck, running his thumb across her jaw.

Beside them, Casey grunted and stirred. They broke apart quickly. Chuck fished around on the floor for his book and picked it up, and Sarah repositioned the pillow between herself and the wall and laid her head on it, pretending to be asleep. His heart beating fast, Chuck picked up in his manual where he had left off and had begun downloading information by the time Casey's eyes opened.

* * *

Mr. and Mrs. Baylor strode casually and confidently behind their intimidating cousin, a man of spectacular build and fortitude. Mr. Baylor's stark blonde hair stood out like a pink elephant in a culture swarming with a sun that deepened the tone of all native skin. He let one arm drape lazily across the shoulder of his dark haired wife, who slunk along beside him, one arm around his waist.

The Rio de Janeiro-Galeão International Airport was shaped in a large curve. Every terminal is located side by side down a long hallway, directly across from which is a long window facing the beautiful, green terrain of the small inlet and the blue, foggy outlines of the not so distant mountains. The sun that Saturday morning was strong, but the sleek, white interior of Galeão kept the area cool and relaxed.

Luggage in hand, the Baylors made their way down the long hallway and into the main lobby of the airport. As they'd been told, three men, dressed casually in dark blue jeans and tan shirts, stood off to the side. The one in front held the sign _BAYLORS_. Of the two men standing slightly off to the side, the one facing the arriving passengers nudged his buddy and he turned. They stood up straighter, without smiling, and waited for the Baylors to approach.

"Greetings, my American friends," said the man holding the sign. "Your flight was good, yes?"

"As good as the fifteen hour ones can get, I suppose," said Charlie, still with his arm draped around his wife. The mens' eyes briefly surveyed Charlie, then carefully coursed over Sarah with approving nods.

"We have much to do," said the man, handing his sign to one of the men behind him. "I am Alexandre Rocha, these are my brothers, Henrique and Lucas. We will be taking you to our home where you will meet our party guests."

"Awesome," said Charlie. "Lead the way."

Henrique and Lucas led the small group to the nearby doors while Alexandre took up the rear. As they walked through the clear glass doors into the perfect sun of Rio, the Intersect noticed a poster on the glass, simple, but very informative: _Boas-vindas a Rio de Janeiro!_ Among the flashes of images and aliases of the many criminals associated with that sign, advertising help to tourists, was the code phrase _a corda sempre arrebenta do lado mais fraco, no el Rio de Janeiro_, which, when translated literally, meant _a chain is only as strong as its weakest link in the River of January._

The last image the Intersect associated with the sign was none other than the beautiful and distinctive Irina Kopp.


	7. Hummingbird

**Chuck vs. the Virus**

* * *

Six months earlier.

Chybansk, Russia

* * *

**Chapter 6: Hummingbird**

The air was crisp and painful, a sharp contrast from the warm rays of sunny South California. Two inches of snow covered the ground, with another inch of sand mixed in. The sidewalks and roads were fine, but simply breathing without something covering her face was torturous.

Jill Roberts wound her way around the small café and ducked inside. She had her long brown hair tucked inside her jacket and scarf and kept a hat over her head. The paranoia hadn't ceased even as she'd been in the country for a week. It seemed that the chance of being recognized increased daily, and the constant state of fear prevented her from sleeping, eating normally, and even staying outside for long.

Cameras were Fulcrum's specialty. The depth of their grasp was insurmountable, and Jill knew it was only a matter of time before she was apprehended, unless there was a way to totally and completely disguise herself. She'd never been good with the aliases. She'd been an all right liar, able to accomplish the little tasks, but she'd never been able to completely subdue her emotions.

Every bump, every whisper, every sideways glance had produced an anxiety-ridden gasp followed by darting into the nearest bathroom or crowded shop. She moved around every other night, hotel to motel to hostel. It varied, and she varied. She went without makeup and ate only in the privacy of her locked room, where she wouldn't be caught with her head bent over a plate of _golubtsy_.

Since leaving Chuck on the eighth floor of the Fulcrum recruiting center, Jill's life had been a duck and cover operation. When she was first arrested, she knew that Fulcrum did not find her valuable enough to retrieve her. What she knew about the operation at large was negligible. She'd raced to her San Francisco apartment, which had been emptied completely. She had expected this, but it was still a shock to see her all possessions gone.

She'd hung around long enough to poke through her hiding places to see if they'd missed anything in their thorough search. To her surprise, they had and she collected quite a bit of cash to help her get out of the country.

And then there was the ring, the several thousand-dollar ring Chuck had given her. The one they'd used to fake their engagement. Here in Chybansk it still burned a hole in her pocket and it only increased her paranoia. She didn't want the thing itself, and she didn't want the money she might get from it.

She kept it in her purse wrapped in a small handkerchief, but today would be the last day it would be in there. She was going to return it. If she could repay Chuck in any way, she wanted him to be able to return the ring to his superiors. Maybe that way he could see that Fulcrum hadn't entirely changed her.

Inside the small café, Jill made her way to the front counter. "Excuse me," she said in Russian. The young man turned around from where he had been futzing on the counter.

"Good afternoon, miss," he said, smiling gratefully at her use of his language. "What can I get for you?"

"I'm looking for a post office, or something of the sort," she said, struggling with her rusty Russian. She grimaced. "Uh, I need to send a package."

The boy nodded, understanding. "Ah, yes, yes. Not too far from here," he said, glancing into the wall pointing east. "Take this road all the way down to Daey pereulok, turn right, and its just a few shops down."

"Spashibo bolshoe," said Jill, touching her heart. After thanking him, she quickly headed in the direction he'd described.

To her relief, the task didn't take long. The package was slightly more expensive to send than she originally anticipated, but she knew its contents were well worth it. She didn't put a note, or add anything else to it as she had so wished to, she simply placed a small kiss over his name and handed it over to the Russian service man.

Now she could sneak back to her hotel, have a little bite to eat, and rest easier knowing such a major mental burden had been removed from her plate. Once outside again it took her some time to find her bearings. The last time she'd been in Russian was the summer before college with her father. Much was out of place, in her mind and demeanor.

Jill was a block away from her hotel when it happened. The hotel was in sight, people swarmed the streets and the bright lights of Moscow's sister city came on in the setting sun. She wasn't even able to utter a scream before she could neither move nor feel nor think.

* * *

Three months later

* * *

The small dog-like door creaked open, the thick, rusty metal clanging with such a great noise, Jill's sensitive eardrums screamed in pain. The only clock she had was the three meals per day, telling her not exactly the time, but the allotment of time. Steel cuts for the morning, a piece of lunch meat between two slices of some sort of bread in the afternoon, and poultry with a disgusting looking vegetable in the evening; always just less than enough to satisfy the cravings.

Slowly, Jill crawled across the cold, wet cement floor. The scrapes and dried blood on her legs and arms from repeating this act so many times were like tattoos, permanent and unchanging. She was anxious for food; many days were spent wondering which meal would come next because time passed with such inconsequential grace she often forgot which meal she last ate.

She refrained from approaching the light. As much as Jill thought about and yearned for sunlight, the artificial light that streamed in from the small opening was sheer pain coursing through her head. General malnourishment, lack of physical activity, light depravation, and separation from the social culture had drained her completely. She did not know how much time had passed, she did not know who was keeping her hostage, and she certainly did not know why this was happening to her.

The only sound she ever heard was a drip, inconsistent and impossible to locate. When she had still felt able, Jill had scoped out the entire room looking for the drip. Measuring it as best she could, she found she could follow the wall on which the small door was placed for twenty-two steps, and eleven steps along its other side. The room was slightly less than a perfect rectangle, two walls were shorter than their opponents; and as high as she could jump and as far as she could reach, she could not touch the ceiling. Knowledge from her basic training with Fulcrum reminded her she could brush the bottom of a seven-foot ceiling on a flat jump; this ceiling was higher.

The whole ordeal had been annoyingly frustrating because her eyes would not adjust to the darkness. No light peeked in and no sound helped her to form a visual of the interior. There was nothing, except a small drinking fountain in one corner and a drain in the other, which she supposed was for excrement. It was a filth hole, smelled of foreign grunge, and quite literally emptied Jill of her soul.

All she had to think about was the meals.

Sometimes, when she really concentrated, she was able to think of other things. People, places from her past. Her weariness, and general weakness from malnourishment, kept her mind devoid of critical thought.

But when she slept, sometimes for so long she didn't hear when her next meal had arrived, she dreamt of Chuck; the only good thing she had to hold on to. He was undoubtedly a source of good, after all that had happened to him. She found that by thinking about him and remembering moments they'd shared together, that she'd been able to retain pieces of her sanity. There was a little hope in this world knowing that people like Chuck were working against people like…well, people like herself. And whoever had her imprisoned.

Jill had been able to keep count of her stay for ten days. She had counted three meals a day for ten days in a row, and then she missed a meal, and another, until they'd become jumbled and unpredictable. For those ten days she'd banged on walls, thrown a million questions through the window every time it opened. She'd reached her hand out to swipe and grab at anything, only to get it smacked so hard fingers broke.

No one had said a word to her, and she stopped expecting anything other than food. It had taken time to lose this expectation, thinking that surely whoever had her—CIA, Fulcrum, some terrorist or antiquated philanthropist—would reveal themselves. But no more did she expect it. Though, it never stopped her from wondering why They had chosen her, Jill Roberts, a Fulcrum scientist—for they had to know her affiliation with Fulcrum.

This was why, when the window opened again, she crawled to it with a defeatist plod, like a tired and worn out dog in the hot noon sun. But there was no food waiting for her. She blinked through her heavy lids, her eyes felt bruised and out of use.

And then, a much larger door opened, one she had not detected before. Light shone in, crossing her legs and illuminating the entirety of the room. Eyes wide, she looked around, taking in the full scope of the hellhole she'd lived in for what felt like months. It was as dark and dirty as she had imagined, if not even worse. Bloodstains were streaked across the floor and the hair on her legs had grown out so she felt like it had actually kept her warm.

When her eyes roamed back to the large beam of light again, unable to look at it without shielding her eyes, she saw the silhouette of a man, large and beefy. He walked forward and helped her to her feet, gently, carefully. He put a supportive arm around her frail figure and led her out of her dingy home.

The light was painful, but the colors and texture of the building around her was agonizing and unfamiliar. She cringed, feeling her brain drift in and out of consciousness.

She awoke on a sofa with a blanket over her. Her clothes had been changed and the stench that had followed her everywhere was gone. Her cuts and bruises had been tended to, and she wore socks and small, black flats. She pushed herself to a sitting position. The light didn't hurt much anymore. Her head ached like she'd been slugged, but it wasn't from the light. Her whole body was in so much physical pain, she was sure that it was her soul making her feel this way.

The room she was in was vast and complicated. Books lined the awesome, mahogany shelves, paintings and buffs filled in the walls and corners; a large desk stood near the rear of the room and a small table on the opposite side. On the small table was a kettle with a cup. She could see steam rising from the spout.

Jill stood up and looked around. This tea must be for her. Was it poisoned? _They had you locked in a cold, empty cell,_ she thought,_ why would they poison you now?_ She walked to the teapot and poured herself a glass. She cringed and looked away from her arms, which were so bony they made her sick to her stomach. She shut her eyes and brought the tea to her lips. It was hot! A welcomed relief. The tea was like candy, strong and full of flavor.

She was still in Russia.

When she had drank the whole glass, and another glass and a half, she returned to the couch and fell asleep.

She awoke again to a voice.

"Ms. Roberts?" the voice was soft, sweet, and very Russian.

Her eyes flickered open. The room was darker now, but not pitch dark. She wondered if it was evening, or morning the next day. She wagered it was morning, because the sunlight streamed in through the window, when it had not before.

At first, the figure was blurry. Jill could tell it was a woman who stood before her, but she did not seem familiar.

Then, everything came into focus. Jill sat upright and watched the woman watch her.

"Good morning, Ms. Roberts," said the woman. She was tall and beautiful, long brown hair and matching eyes.

Jill felt her breath shake. Her palms began to sweat. "Who are you…?" Her voice was so hoarse from lack of use it was barely audible as speech. It sounded like the dull moan of rusty cranks. She tried to clear her throat, but she left the moment in a coughing fit. The woman waited for her to recover, then handed her a glass of water. Jill drank, and drank. Clean water.

"My name is Irina, Ms. Roberts," said the woman. "Irina Kopp. And I know everything about you." She was sitting in a chair, leaning forward now, staring at Jill full in the face. "And you are going to tell me everything you know."

Jill gulped, her mouth still stuck together from dehydration. "But, I don't…I don't know anything…"

"Fulcrum is small game to me," said Irina, in a thick Russian accent. She spoke clear English, but her Russian dialect was distinctly Moscovian. "I care about how to deal with these Americans."

Jill looked around, wondering which Americans she was referring to. "Americans?"

"In time, my little Hummingbird, in time," said Irina. "You will tell me everything. Everyone finds me very worth talking to. Everyone talks." From her back pocket she removed a small knife, no larger than the length of her hand. "Because if you don't, there is worse waiting for you than from where you've come already."

* * *

Present Day (another three months)

* * *

"The CIA rat escaped!" Irina was furious, laying a hand square across Jill's jaw. Jill stumbled backward and hit the wall, head banging against the uneven surface. She slumped to the ground. "And not only that, they stole pictures of you. How did they know you were here?"

Still in pain, Jill fought the nausea and stood up. "I have no idea, Irina," she said, grumbling. "From what you described, that does not sound like the Chuck Bartowski I remember."

Irina spat on the ground, something Jill had never seen the overly proper woman do. "Chuck…Bartowski…" she looked disgusted and said his name with such loathing the wallpaper seemed to quiver. "He is nothing as you described."

Jill rubbed her eyes and shook her head. What had gone so wrong that caused Irina to respond this way?

"Were the agents with him I described?" asked Jill, in Russian. Irina only approved of Russian, now, it was expected.

"Yes," said Irina, curtly. "The burly man stayed downstairs, he managed to steal the photographs of you from the backup computer."

"And the woman?"

"Quite literally flew into the room," said Irina. "Never saw her coming, never knew she was here."

"How did they beat you?" asked Jill. From the amount of time Jill had spent training with and learning from Irina Kopp, she'd never seen the woman bite off more than she could chew. It astounded her that Chuck Bartowski and Agent Walker had managed to cause the woman to retreat.

Irina sat on the sofa in her office. Much of the bookshelf had been destroyed in the fight with the female agent, but she did not care. Her frustration had mounted into anger and a need for vengeance. "Of course, it did not help that the imbecile, Mr. Waters, interfered, believing himself to come to my rescue." She scoffed. "Idiot."

"He is being dealt with as we speak," said Jill. "I made plans for him to be _relocated_."

"Good," said Irina, smiling. Her lips twitched, clearly pleased with her little she-apprentice. She stood up again and circled around Jill. "There is something unique about this _Chuck_. He is not like other agents I killed."

Jill shrugged. "The last time I saw Chuck, he was using an elementary school defense mechanism to protect himself."

Irina threw her head back and laughed, then did, what Jill had previously demonstrated for her, the Morgan. "I thought he was going to be an easy acquisition. But no, he is unique, he is special. He knows something."

Jill nodded. "I am sure he knows many things. He's a very intelligent asset."

Grunting, Irina shook her head. "No, no. He is more than an _asset_." She tapped her cheek, turning on the spot and looking around the walls of her beautiful office. "We just need to find out more."

A moment of silent passed before Jill thought it safe to say something else. But before she could, Irina put in a hand in the air to stop her, without even facing her. "I know what we have to do," she said. "We just have to capture another agent."

Jill sighed. "But Agents don't know about each other in the CIA. Not even in Fulcrum. Identities are their commodity. Say a name and twenty of them have probably used it as an alias."

Irina turned to look at Jill. "But you say this Chuck was an analyst last time you were together, yes?"

Jill looked away, disliking the way Irina said _together_. "Yes, an analyst. A very intelligent and knowledgeable analyst."

"So, all we need is an agent who knows about analysts. What do they do? Why do they need them?"

"Aren't you making this more complicated than it needs to be?" asked Jill, throwing up her hands.

"You have a better idea?" asked Irina.

Jill put out her hands as though to say, _obviously_. She pointed to herself. "Me. I am the idea. I don't need a cover or an alias. Chuck knows me, I can get close to him without giving it all up."

Irina frowned, deeply. Her eyes disappeared beneath her eyebrows and she crossed her arms. "No. No way, no how. I will not permit it."

"Why not? It's a foolproof plan," said Jill, knowing this wasn't entirely true.

"It is not. It is full of fools and holes. First, you tell me you had a personal relationship with this Chuck. Second, you tell me your employer Fulcrum forced you to break up with him. Third, you tell me you hurt him intentionally to keep him away. Fourth, you tell me he fell for you second time when your employer instructed you to use him. Fifth, you turn against your employer in order to help him find his father. And sixth…"

"I know, I know," said Jill. "Sixth, he helps me escape."

Irina kept the ice-cold stare on her face. "And seventh, I do not trust you." She turned her back to Jill again. Jill made a frustrated strangling movement in Irina's direction. "If we can't capture an agent, we will find another way."

There was a knock at the door. Jill went to answer it. Paul, who only went by Paul, stood at attention. The big, beefy man winked at Jill, who opened the door wide to let him in.

"Irina, we are nearly set for the exchange in Rio," said Paul. "We are waiting on the new device, but are on track. We will be prepared to depart from the airfield on Monday morning to arrive in Rio by Monday evening." Without waiting for Irina to comment, he left the room again, and Jill shut the door behind him.

After several moments, Irina spoke again. "We will talk about this again, once we have completed the exchange in Rio. Wallstreet is important to us and we must make them our friends."

"Will I be going with you?" asked Jill, hopefully.

Irina took a deep breath. "I do not know yet, Hummingbird. I will know soon."


	8. The Warehouse

**Chuck vs. the Virus**

* * *

AN: I had to slip that last chapter in to tell a little back story, and I gotta say, it is hard to write an entire chapter without Chuck or Sarah! But, know when I do slip a chapter like that in, I'll bring on the Chara even stronger in the next chapter. It is Chara, right? Not like…Sarck or Chura? If it's not obvious where my shipper allegiance lies by now, I hope this comment didn't spoil it :P

* * *

**Chapter 7: The Warehouse**

Either _home_ and _party_ were loose terms in Portuguese, or Alexandre Rocha was being facetious, because the location Chuck, Sarah, and Casey were brought to was not a typical home. Unless one's home happened to be within a warehouse large enough to store passenger airplanes, this place looked more like home base, or a Brazilian gang's version of the Amulet or the Castle.

Outside, the building wasn't as extraordinary as one might think. It was plain white with large solar panel plates on top. It had two large garages facing the road, which was deserted due to its remote location. Just to get to the location, the small group had driven nearly an hour. Before and after, and the whole way there, Chuck could smell the seawater, and it gave the Intersect a sense of direction and functionality. His manual had told him the Intersect was capable of retracing steps based on memory scents, so it was important to consider the senses in certain situations where navigation might seem impossible.

The ride in the large fifteen-passenger van was uncomfortable. The gang had removed all the seats except for the front two and the first bench. Alexandre rode in the passenger seat while Henrique drove. Lucas sat in the far back with Casey, Chuck, and Sarah; though his gun wasn't directly trained on them, he made it clear by the way he held it that he could use it easily should they disrupt the piece.

Lucas also sat very close to Sarah, who was beginning to look uncomfortable by the man's lewd glances. She shot a look at Chuck, who sat against the wall on her other side. Across from them, Casey flitted between narrowing his eyes and studying the two of them and finding different ways to look angry.

Finally, Sarah moved. She scooted closer to Chuck and wove her legs through his own, then laid her head on his shoulder.

Next to her, Lucas was frowning, disappointed at her affection for Chuck. "Did you get any sleep on the airplane?" he asked, looking between the three of them.

Casey grunted. "Eventually," he said. "I'd prefer a cot over that airplane garbage."

Lucas nodded. "I've owned better bags for sleeping." Chuck figured the man meant sleeping bags. He also wondered if he should reveal to Lucas, or to anyone, his ability to speak their language. Would it be too soon to do it now? Would it scare them if he suddenly started speaking it later on?

The question Lucas asked was the only thing spoken by any of the Brazilians during the remainder of the trip. When they arrived at the warehouse, Henrique rushed around to open the back doors and let the group out. Casey and Chuck hopped out, then Chuck helped Sarah to the ground.

As Henrique was shutting the doors again, Alexandre joined them, stretching and breathing in the air. "Ah, now this is the weather we love here," he said. He pounded his chest a couple times and grinned. His eyes fell on Sarah's arms wrapped around Chuck's body, and Chuck's left hand resting on her shoulder. "How long have you two been married?" he asked, grinning. He must have seen Chuck's ring.

Sarah looked up at Chuck, resting her chin on his arm. "Almost three years," she said.

Henrique and Lucas chuckled. Chuck didn't think he understood the joke. "The honeymoon is over, eh?" asked Alexandre. "Is that how the saying is?"

Chuck nodded. "That is the saying, but I'd say our honeymoon is ongoing, wouldn't you, hon?"

Sarah stood up a little straighter, letting her hand slide into Chuck's back pocket. He tried not to let his eyes bug out from surprise. "In our line of work, we're always traveling," she said. "We just never settled into the post-honeymoon phase."

"You are very lucky," said Alexandre, shaking a finger at Chuck and smiling. "Well, I think more greetings are in order. We know you are the Baylors, but who is who?"

"Of course, how rude of us," said Chuck. "I'm Charlie, this is Sarah and John."

John shook hands with the Brazilians. "You are the gun expert, yes?" asked Alexandre. He held John's gaze and, of course, Casey, the former Marine, did not back down from the slightly smaller man.

"That's right," he said. "I like to consider myself something of the sort."

"How do you know Kipper?" asked Alexandre.

"I worked a couple jobs with him back in the late 80s, while he was still moving squid through Panama," said Casey, clearly knowledgeable about his back story. "He knew I was looking for a fresh locale. We've been having some trouble with the local Feds back in the U.S. between the Arizona and Mexican border."

"Sounds exciting," said Alexandre, giving him a sly grin. "I'm sure you'll fit in here." He turned his head back to Sarah and Chuck. "As will you. We have many married people on our team."

"When do we get to meet the team?" asked Chuck.

Alexandre spread out his arms. "Right now, of course." And as he spoke the words, people began emerging from all sides, many carrying weapons, and most strolling forward as though they'd been hiding behind invisible barriers. From the warehouse itself, Chuck noticed Agent Kipper come out with a couple men, who could have been bodyguards. "We like entrances," said Alexandre.

"Clearly," Sarah mumbled.

Despite the vast look of the, for lack of a better work, parking lot, Kipper and his men seemed to approach quickly. The images the Intersect presented him with initially regarding Kipper and failed to mention the hardening of this man's aura. He'd taken to the culture and truly became one of the gang members, at least in his appearance. The Intersect had also briefed Chuck on Naval service of this man, and seemed to make it clear—though there were always reservations—that his loyalty rested with the United States government, regardless of his deep undercover assignment.

But it was clear how the man had fooled everyone; he truly looked his part. His men regarded him with fear and respect. Chuck caught the sidelong glances of the guards, and found them to be quite peculiar. From what he understood about the Wallstreet gang, it functioned like a family without developing close ties. The members were so successful with their hits because their loyalties were few and far between. Clearly, this was no longer the case.

Perhaps Kipper had taken it upon himself to revolutionize the gang, teaching them principles gained from years in the service: team work, honor, and self-preservation. The Intersect had no real current data on the fatality rate of the gang, but Chuck would wager it had gone down significantly.

The crowd that gathered behind Kipper and Alexandre was a hard-faced crowd, full of beautiful and scarred faces alike. It was a moderate sized group, perhaps fifteen to twenty individuals. All were deeply tanned and had shocking black hair, making Chuck feel rather conspicuous. Some arms were crossed, others held small artillery; there were several couples, too, Chuck noticed. Not one woman present was alone; each was attached to a man, and for good reason. They were Brazilian beauties: long hair, full lips, and wide, wondering eyes. They looked capable, but submissive in some way.

Chuck chanced a look at Sarah, who returned his blank stare. He'd seen that look enough to know what she was trying to tell him: _it's time to be a spy_.

"Johnny!" Kipper extended his hand, looking extremely pleased to see Casey, like they were old friends embracing after a long time apart. "It's good to see you, old friend."

Casey returned the enthusiasm. "It's been too long, Kip."

"The last time I saw you, you were escaping to Mexico in an '89 Corolla," said Kipper, shaking his head. "There were a couple years there when I thought you were dead."

"Me too," said Casey, grunting. "The Feds don't let me rest too long."

Kipper grinned and looked around at his men, all with evil, complacent grins. "We hear that, man," he said, winking. He turned around to face his gang and spoke in Portuguese. Chuck, who could understand what he was saying, whispered a translation for Sarah. "Commrades, I would like to introduce you to an old friend, John Baylor, and his family. If there is any man alive who can guarantee the quick acquisition of squid, it is this man here." He pulled John up beside him and hit him on the arm. Then he lifted up the sleeve of John's shirt and pointed at a scar. "In 1985, John and I were running from the Mexican Bandidos after we'd sold them faulty spark plugs that made their engines explode. We raced through four hundred miles before John came up with the plan of escape: a hidden, crossfire take down."

Some of the members looked at each other, as though familiar with the story. Chuck wasn't quite sure what Kipper had meant by _squid_, but he didn't say anything as Kipper continued to speak.

"I have never met a more accurate shot," said Kipper, still in Portuguese. "I wanted him here for this job because we want to get this right the first time. Yes?" There was a murmur of consent, though some men looked slightly resentful. "John tells me his team has acted in a contract manner for some time now, offering their services to organizations who need specialists. He's here to have our back and see the cut of the new squid we're moving." John crossed his arms, maintaining his intimidating demeanor.

Kipper unwrapped his arm from around Casey and began moving through his people. "This is the most important move we've made yet, people. If we break into this scene, we will be able to accomplish all our goals. Rio will become the mother we have all dreamed of, and our oppressive government will no longer command a restricted lifestyle."

This incited the gang and fists pumped into the air, men raised their guns, and the women clapped. It was clear the gang knew the gravity of the task at hand and their pride was nothing to the prestige and possibilities this opportunity presented to them.

"How do we know we can trust them?" asked one man as Kipper passed him. The man was staring at Chuck and Sarah, who hadn't moved from their embrace.

Kipper moved so that he was close up next to the man. Kipper was tall and muscular, a wiry, youthful man with vigor and confidence. His voice became husky and threatening. "Do you trust me, Benido?" Apparently the man did, because he lowered his head. "If you trust me, you can trust these people." He looked at John again. "John, introductions please."

"My Portuguese is a bit rusty," said Casey, nodding toward Kipper.

"I'll do it," said Chuck, in Portuguese. He gave Casey a firm look. "I am Charlie Baylor, and this is my wife Sarah. John is my eldest cousin. He taught me everything I know." Sarah gave a small wave as whispers ripped through the crowd.

"What is wrong with your hair?" asked a woman, in crisp English.

"My hair?" asked Chuck, pointing to his hair. He touched it, like it was precious, and tried to look offended. "What do you mean? Don't you like it? I thought it was rather distinctive."

Those who understood English laughed. This group was not at all what Chuck had been expecting. He'd been expecting killers, mercenaries, cold-blooded drug dealers; men who would sell a ten-year-old a firearm just to watch him shoot up a school.

From deep in the crowd, Kipper spoke up again. "First preparation meeting tonight at midnight. You are all dismissed." The crowd dispersed, most going back into the warehouse. One couple remained, and Kipper brought them to the newcomers.

"John, Charlie, Sarah, this is Matias and Luiza Campos. They will be showing you to your quarters you will use during your stay here," said Kipper. "We've got a deal going down this afternoon, so most of my people will be occupied."

Matias stepped forward and shook their hands, a grim and forced smile on his face. He seemed like a powerful man put into a position of subjection, like a tamed tiger or caged leopard. His wife was beautiful, small and petite, but had wiry arms that looked as though they'd seen bullets and battles. She seemed confident, but unwilling to shake hands. _Maybe that is the norm for women in this business_, thought Chuck, trying hard not to stare at the gorgeous skin of the woman.

"Tomorrow we will begin detailing the plan," said Matias, putting an arm around his wife. "Most of the men do not know yet what we are to do. It is only four of us who put the meet together."

"We find that less goes wrong when fewer people know the plan until the last minute," said Kipper, explaining further. "Alright, Baylor, you are in good hands." Kipper smacked John on the shoulder. "I have to get going, but you guys feel free to roam around Rio, take in the sites, because the next two days are going to be non-stop."

* * *

Casey disappeared moments after Matias and Luiza left the small, conjoined motel rooms. The entire complex seemed off to Chuck, as though it was a motel specifically designed for mobsters, gang members, and violence in general . There were divots in the walls and the paint was peeling. Chuck was sure that a dark spot near the bathroom was an old, scrubbed-out bloodstain.

"You're going to leave me with her?" Chuck said, following Casey outside. "Come on, man. Give a guy a break."

"Would you rather I take her with me?" asked Casey, grinning out of the corner of his mouth.

Chuck's eyes widened. "Yes, that would be fantastic."

Casey growled and his sarcastic grin faded. "No can do, spaz. I've only got eight hours before the meeting tonight, and I probably won't be sleeping much this trip anyway." He considered Chuck for a moment, then got in his face and whispered hoarsely a warning. "Look, Chuck, this is as real as it gets for us. You guys were friends before this, just put your female feelings aside and work with her. You are the man now." He jabbed Chuck in the chest with a big finger. "Don't kill each other, okay?"

The weather was beautiful, and Chuck stayed outside once Casey left, hopping on a bus in the direction of the warehouse. There were a number of reasons the CIA wouldn't want to tell him about the special mission Casey was given, but he didn't for a second believe it was because the less he knew the better he was bound to do.

Behind him, the motel door opened and shut quietly. "Is he gone?" asked Sarah, walking up beside him.

"Yep," said Chuck. He only sort of resented the fact that Sarah probably knew what Casey was up to and refused to tell him. She had proven time and time again she wanted to protect him, but in this particular instance it was patronizing.

"Well…" said Sarah, running a hand down his arm, "don't you want to come back inside?" Chuck's eyes widened and he turned his head to look at her out of the corner of his eye. "It's like you said, _hon_, we've got an ongoing honeymoon." She held up her hand so the ring reflected in the sunlight.

Chuck reached out and took her hand, eyeing the ring thoughtfully. He knew she was looking at him, waiting for him to say something, but his head was someplace else, turning and spinning with thoughts and images that were not his own.

"What is it?" she asked, reaching up to run a hand over the back of his head.

Chuck shook his head. "Nothing."

"Come on, Chuck," she said, "talk to me."

He shrugged. "That's not the ring I would have chosen for you."

Taken aback, Sarah stood still for a moment. Then she laughed. "That's what you were just thinking about?"

"More or less. It was one of the many thoughts going through my mind."

"Have you thought about this before?" she asked, looking away from him, examining her ring closer.

He shrugged again. "Who doesn't think about it? I just mean, okay, well it's a gorgeous ring, don't get me wrong, but it's so extravagant. Tie that to the end of a chain and clobber someone across the back with it. It doesn't feel like the Sarah I know."

"You want diamonds in yours, don't you?" she teased, playfully bumping him with her hip.

He didn't respond, still looking out across the landscape. The motel was up on a hill, overlooking the Palmira Islet about twelve miles from the Warehouse. The ocean was beautiful and the houses around, in plain sight, were like pictures out of National Geographic. Chuck had never been out of the United States and suddenly found himself deep within a culture that had its mark on ancient civilizations. It was spectacular.

"Seriously, Chuck, what is going on with you?" asked Sarah, beginning to sound worried.

He shook his head, still looking out across the islet. "I don't know, Sarah. Something doesn't feel right. Something is out of place."

"Chuck, we need to go inside," she said, whispering. "It's not safe to talk out here."

He let her lead him indoors. She locked and bolted the door behind them, then dimmed the shades. "I swept the room for bugs," she said. "Apparently the gang doesn't use bugs."

Chuck put out his hands in exclamation. "See, that's what I'm talking about." He paced back and forth across the room as he spoke. "The Intersect believes this is the most deadly gang in the Western hemisphere. No member has survived more than two years within the gang, and the Intersect didn't even suggest the possibility of such a working, family dynamic."

Sarah cocked her head. She had taken a seat on the bed, watching him pace. "What do you mean?"

"The respect they have for Kipper," said Chuck, stopping his forward motion. He was facing the small, dingy bathroom with no mirror. "It is…unsettling. This whole ordeal is just…unsettling."

Sarah shook her head. "You aren't making any sense, Chuck."

He sighed and collapsed back onto the bed. He let his arms sprawl out and stared straight up at the ceiling. Sarah repositioned herself so that she was lying on his arm, with one leg draped over his body. She stared at him until he looked at her, then she leaned over and kissed him.

"Everything is going to be fine, Chuck," she said. "Our covers are solid and we'll be able to assist in the exchange, ID the Pound agents, and be on our way without anyone being the wiser." Chuck studied her expression. Something about her reassurance made him feel like something was inevitably about to go wrong. "Don't look like that. Why are you being so pessimistic? What happened?"

"I'm not. I mean, I'm not meaning to. It's this stupid thing in my head." He shut his eyes and used his hands to clamp over his temples. "It never stops working. It's constantly downloading information into my head."

Sarah tapped his chest with her fingers. "I don't know if you've noticed, Mr. Baylor, but I have offered, twice now, to help you shut if off, temporarily." She raised herself up slightly and moved so that instead of one leg draped over him, she was straddling his stomach. He winked one eye opened, surprised by this movement. Slowly, she lowered herself so that she lay on top of him, resting her chin inside his neck. He breathed deeply and she felt him smile against her cheek.

With one quick movement he spun her over, pinning her to the bed. She let out an inadvertent squeal and locked her legs around him. And as he wove his fingers into hers, he felt her ring. He smiled.

"What? What is it?" she asked, breathing heavily.

"I forgot," he said with a laugh. "I completely forgot."

* * *

"We have hard evidence backing up our belief that former Fulcrum agent Jill Roberts was kidnapped by the Pound after she escaped from CIA custody," said Casey. He pulled a folder out of his bag and handed it to the woman.

"That doesn't surprise me," she said, taking the folder from him. "Since the murder of Ted Rourk, Fulcrum has run with its tail between its legs, dispersing and dividing, betraying one another and doing anything to survive, short of turning themselves over to the government." The woman had tan skin, but not Brazilian skin. Her hair was the American brown with a tint of red, which shaped her rosy, delicate features like a wavy frame.

"We believe these were the first photographs taken of Roberts since her disappearance six months ago," said Casey. "It is troublesome to the NSA that she suddenly appears back on the scene as all the business with the Pound is going down."

"Clearly it is troublesome," said the woman, examining the photographs carefully. "But it isn't surprising. The Pound knows how valuable an asset they have in Roberts, and we have to play the game as though she told them everything she knew about your team and about the CIA, and, of course, about Fulcrum."

The woman kept the photographs, setting them on her desk. She had constructed herself an office in the basement of a grocery store, in the facilities they no longer use, and had created a reinforced barrier around the perimeter, keeping out everyone and everything, including, Casey thought, the rats.

"Tell me, Colonel, how was it that the NSA came to learn Roberts landed in Pound custody?"

Casey grunted. "Believe it or not, she sent a package to Chuck not two weeks after she'd escaped. Sent it to his residence in Burbank while he was at Harlington."

The woman sat forward, intrigued. "A package? Of what sort?"

Casey shrugged. "Before she escaped, she and Chuck posed as an engaged couple to lure a Fulcrum agent away from his handlers. The ring they used was a doozy, cost the taxpayers thousands. We still can't determine how she was able to keep it from us, but we think Chuck might have helped her escape and gave her the ring as a way to survive."

The woman scoffed. "And she sent it back anyway?" She shook her head. "This woman is volatile and unpredictable."

Nodding, Casey got to his feet. He walked around the room, examining her equipment, admiring her small arsenal. "You see our dilemma."

"Not only is Roberts at large, she is apparently working for the top weapons mercenaries with intricate knowledge of our Intersect," said the woman, recapping.

Casey turned to face her again. "We don't believe Roberts knows Chuck is the Intersect, actually. We don't think the Pound even knows of the existence of such a thing."

The woman was shaking her head. She got to her feet as well and rounded the desk to stand nearer to Casey. She was tall, though not in comparison to Casey, and wore a long robe. Her light brown eyes were compelling and lacked the severity of her reputation.

"Don't become complacent, Colonel. We can't take that risk. If there's even the possibility someone knows about Chuck's condition, well, you certainly know what you have to do," said the woman, crossing her arms. The concern for Chuck made her entire demeanor change; a black haze seemed to cloud her beautiful eyes as she narrowed them at Casey.

Casey stood up straight, as though at attention. "Of course I do, ma'am. You are aware of Langley's official position on this, though, don't you?" he said, gruffly. "My perception of Agent Brook's orders is that he would prefer Chuck dead than any extraneous effort on Agent Walker's and my part to keep him alive."

If possible, the woman's eyes narrowed even further. "Lucky for you, Colonel, I outrank Agent Brook in more than one way." She took a deep breath and let her face soften. "That is disturbing as well, the CIA's lack of concern for Chuck's safety."

"If it's any consolation, ma'am," he said, still at attention, "I disagree with his assessment of Chuck. I believe Chuck has taken very well to the new programming and despite is rather annoying personality, will become an effective and powerful agent of the United States government."

The woman beamed, smiling more broadly than he had ever seen her do before. "That means a lot, Colonel. I appreciate that." She turned and walked to a screen near her desk. "If I may ask, what really is going on between your partners?"

"Chuck and Sarah?" asked Casey, scoffing. "Hell if I know. They are either so in love they can't stand each other, or she embarrassed him so badly that working together will help mend a friendship." He looked annoyed by his own answer. "Honestly, I don't really care and it's insufferable to be around them regardless of their relationship status."

The woman laughed. "Well, thank you for your honest assessment." She pulled up a surveillance camera trained on the Warehouse in the South District. "Okay, Agent Kipper is instructed to go through with all aspects of the plan. All you have to do is assist with the transaction. He will be using you to verify the validity of the weapons they are importing. We've obtained the specs for you to review before they arrive." She tapped the screen. "He is operating a well-oiled machine. They are scared enough of him to respect him, and respect him enough to trust him. It is a very different dynamic within Wallstreet than ever before."

Casey crossed his arms, looking at the surveillance. Several men were playing cards on a folding table in the middle of the room. They were like old frat buddies, sitting around throwing daddy's money away.

"Does anything about this meet concern you?" he asked.

She turned to look at him. "Everything concerns me. I am most worried about Chuck. My fear is that Pound members will be present who can identify him and harm him."

Casey took a deep breath and held it, trying to refrain from voicing his thoughts. She seemed to know he was holding back and made a hand motion telling him to just spit it out.

"With all due respect, the new Intersect has given Chuck the ability to overcome almost anything. Sarah's involvement will be problematic, but their rapport seems professional. There is no reason to believe his life to be in danger."

She sighed. "If only that were true." She shook her head. "Unfortunately, with his father's new design of the intersect, there are more things than ever that can harm him and more people that wish to obtain the secrets in his head. Not that Stephen could have anticipated Chuck would be _the_ Intersect, but it certainly makes a person consider what their creation has the potential of doing."

"Do you mean, design everything as though your son will use it?"

Her mouth twitched. "Something like that." She stuck out her hand and Casey shook it. "It's been a pleasure, Colonel."

"Please, ma'am, in private company, Casey is just fine," said Casey, nodding.

"Alright. But if you get to be Casey, then no more of this ma'am stuff. It's Faye." She smiled up at him, her eyes friendly. Casey turned to leave, but she made a sound that made him stop and look at her again. "Sorry, I know you hate talking about this sort of thing, Casey…"

"Go ahead, it's fine."

Faye hesitated. "How is Ellie?"

Casey gave her a half smile, the most genuine he could muster. "She seems very happy. I believe you would really like her husband."

Faye touched the locket around her chest. "Thank you."

* * *

Sarah sat against the headboard on the only bed in their motel room. The sheets were chaotically spread every which way, but it was warm in the room and she didn't really need them. In her lap was her manual, but she wasn't really reading it. She was turning the device she'd taken from Chuck's closet over in her hand, absently examining it while she listened to the shower run.

Her initial examination of the device told her only it was a CIA issue. The serial numbers followed the pattern of other similar devices, but she could find nothing in the database to match it. It was time for the Intersect to take a look at it.

The shower shut off and Chuck emerged a moment later, towel wrapped around his waist and a goofy, happy grin on his face. She laughed, mostly because his hair looked so white he seemed to glow.

"What?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I just like the look on your face." She smiled. "Get some clothes on, I need to show you something."

Chuck let his eyes go limp and put on a disappointed expression. "Two things no guy ever wants to hear in the same sentence." He shrugged and dug through his bag for some badass, CIA-issue clothes. He looked over at her as he was about to drop his towel. "Last chance to look away before I change." She rolled her eyes.

"So a couple days ago I went and visited your room at Ellie's," Sarah said.

Chuck buttoned his jeans and looked at her. "What? Why?"

She took a deep breath. "Okay, this may sound really stupid…" she bit her lip. "I kinda miss that place."

Chuck made his eyebrows dance. "You missed the Tron poster, didn't you? And my twelve year old sheets."

She shrugged. "I was feeling nostalgic. Anyway, as I was poking around I found something in your closet."

"Beside your Orange Orange tank?" asked Chuck, grinning. He slipped on his light brown shirt and sat down at Sarah's feet on the bed.

She ignored that and held up the device for him to see. She could tell immediately that it registered with the Intersect, and sat up straighter.

While his eyes were still fluttering, Chuck spoke. "CIA issued wireless monitoring device designed in 2006 by Sherri Patterson, hardware specialist for the NSA. Kidnapped in 2008, Patterson's whereabouts are currently unknown, but monitoring devices have been popping up in the last fourteen months bearing her designs and trademarks. This design is old, but the serial number does not register with any known device currently in use. Recently, similar devices have been found on some of the government's most protected officials, assets, and politicians and no back trace has yet been possible."

When he regained focus, he looked at Sarah, whose eyes were wide. Clearly, she should have just brought the thing to him in the first place. "Wow."

He shook his head, trying to clear the fuzz of additional information that he couldn't put into words. "There was a schematic, too. I think I can disassemble it and rewire it so we can find out all the data it transmitted."

"My gosh, Chuck," she said, reaching to put a hand on his. "Is there anything the Intersect can't do?"

Chuck frowned, clearly uncomfortable with the suggestion. "I'm beginning to think not." He stood up again. "We'll have to do it when we get back to the Amulet. We need to be ready for our transport in a half hour."

Sarah looked at the clock, surprised. "Well, there went that afternoon."


	9. The Herring

**Chuck vs. the Virus**

* * *

AN: OMG thanks for bearing with me folks. It is absolute chaos in my dimension, here. I appreciate the reviews, as always! It keeps me writing…And, I hope you all will appreciate the fact I wrote this in lieu of being in a wedding this weekend. Can't deny my commitment and enthusiasm for Chuck!!

* * *

**Chapter 8: The Herring**

"_Tough break, man. Heard about the hearing." The young man came to a stop directly beside Chuck, facing him, and holding a tray of food. The Intersect immediately recognized and processed the man as Carl Leone, a recent acquisition gifted with a special inclination toward numbers._

_Chuck gave him a half-hearted smile, which he'd have liked Carl to interpret as a warning to back off. But the guy sat down across from him anyway. His tray consisted of a gigantic burger crammed with fixings and a slop of ketchup proportionally larger than the pile of French fries._

"_Thanks, Carl," said Chuck, pushing his tray away from him. There were only a few agents in the cafeteria, which held the ambiance of a high-end restaurant. The lights were low and the tables were actually booths, sectioned off with high, dark wood partitions._

_The young man, starkly white skinned with flaming freckles, blinked at Chuck, surprised perhaps that Chuck knew his name. They'd never spoken, of course, but since the Intersect knew who Carl was, so did Chuck; and everyone seemed to know who Chuck was._

"_Have we met?" asked Carl._

_Chuck shrugged. "I don't think so."_

_Carl grinned and wagged a finger at Chuck. "You know, I've heard stories about you. Weird, impossible stuff." He shook his head, grinning in disbelief. He picked up his burger and bit into it, letting the mayonnaise and excess mustard dribble down his cheek. "I was coming over here to introduce myself, but I guess you already know me," said Carl, through a mouthful of hamburger._

_From the top of his eyes, Chuck examined the guy. He was just a year younger than Chuck himself, but he seemed a great deal younger. "Carl Gene Leone, MIT graduate. Ph.D. in Applied Mathematics, specializing in the analysis of atmospheric sound propagation and acoustics."_

_Carl chuckled, still chewing on his first bite of burger. "Dude, that is insane. How do you do it?"_

_Chuck shrugged. "I find it important to know as much about everyone as I can."_

"_Me and the guys were talking about your hearing," said Carl, moving on to what was probably his reason for coming over to Chuck. He chose a couple fries to fill the space that just opened up in his mouth. "A couple guys who you train with, that is. And none of us have ever heard of a hearing where the agents are being questioned about a personal relationship." He grinned with a connotation Chuck didn't particularly like. "You and Walker, right?" He whistled. "Man, how'd you land _that_?"_

_Chuck growled, thinking of any number of ways he'd like to rip off Carl's head. But he restrained and looked back down at his still full tray. He'd taken a couple bites of his meatball sub, and drank most of his coke, but the small salad still sat uneaten. He had a bad feeling overall about today._

"_Ok…" said Carl, lifting his eyebrows in an off-put way. He took another bite of his burger. "Seriously, though. Why the government would care enough about the relationship between two agents enough to hold a national security meeting is beyond me. You guys must be in real deep."_

_Behind Carl, several more men filed in, all looking like they'd come fresh from the showers. Hair soaked, they were wearing the standard issue Property of Harlington Academy t-shirts. Chuck recognized most of them, and, of course, the Intersect recognized the rest. He was already starting to get overwhelmed by the amount of information he knew. He doubted the absence of any information within the Intersect; he seemed to have anything and everything at his disposal._

_Carl followed Chuck's eyeline and watched the guys get their meals from the counter. "I suppose you know who they are too?"_

"_I train with most of them," said Chuck. "I train with most people."_

"_I don't train," said Carl. "They have me here for reasons other than the uh, combat." He pointed at himself, as if his scrawny and severely non-athletic build needed any indication. Then he eyed Chuck more closely. "Then again, you aren't that ripped yourself." He stopped chewing, as though he was thinking about something. "But, from the stories I've heard about you, I expected you to be more like that John Casey guy from the NSA. I actually thought he was you, until Jared Sutton corrected me."_

"_Casey is still here?" asked Chuck, surprised. He sat up a bit straighter, now having a reason to give Carl the time of day. "When did you last see him?"_

_Carl shrugged. "He's come and gone the last couple weeks. I think he's on a special assignment."_

_Chuck frowned. He knew Casey would never talk to him about anything remotely important, but it would sure be nice to have the guy around for moral support; as long as Casey didn't know why he was around for Chuck, he served his purpose. The moment, Chuck knew, that he let the Colonel realize he needed his friendship, the man would do worse than mock him._

_The new arrivals nodded at Chuck as they passed close by, but they sat a distance away at a larger booth that would hold all of them. With their presence, the cafeteria seemed much fuller. Chuck thought he would follow his instincts and get out of here while he still could._

"_Well, it's been a good talk," said Chuck, sliding out of his seat, "but I must be going. Things to do, people to piss off, a life to forget I own."_

_Carl looked upset. "Oh, okay. Well, thanks for letting me join you." He stuck out his hand and Chuck shook it. "Good to meet you, Agent Bartowski."_

"_You too, Leone," said Chuck, mumbling. "Want my food?"_

_Leone grinned. "Seriously? Thanks, man."_

"_Best meatball subs ever," said Chuck, raising his eyebrows and speaking out of the corner of his mouth. "If you're a sub lover, my man, do not take this place for granted."_

"_Oh, I hear you," said Carl. "I think training is going to be the best part of my career with the CIA."_

_Chuck snorted. "Let's hope not." Carl laughed._

_From the corner of his eye, Chuck saw the door to the cafeteria open again. Without looking, he knew who it was. He gulped, and something in his eyes must have gave him away because Carl's face fell and he looked worried._

"_Bartowski, what's wrong?" he asked. "You feeling alright, man?"_

_Chuck turned his head, feeling the blood rush to his ears. His heart beat so fast he thought it wanted to leap out of his chest. It pained him, physically and emotionally, and it paralyzed him. He vaguely saw Carl's head turn to look at the door again._

_Sarah walked a couple paces toward him; dressed simply in tight black pants, a light green shirt and a small zip up fleece. She didn't come all the way to him, but waited for him to make a move toward her. She wasn't smiling, she was here, unofficially, on official business._

"_Uh oh," said Carl, smirking. "The lady means business."_

_Chuck swallowed, the lump barely passing through his throat. "I don't think so. Wish me luck…" Chuck licked his lips; his mouth was so dry it stuck together. He walked to Sarah, slowly, taking deep breaths and praying at each step he wouldn't pass out._

"_Chuck, we need to talk," said Sarah, once he was close enough she didn't have to raise her voice. He still felt like her voice carried, and he looked around. A couple people were looking at them._

"_Come on, Sarah, do you have to do this here?" he asked. He took another deep breath. "Can't you spare me a little dignity?"_

_She ignored him, looking him straight in the face. How was she able to do this? Her whole demeanor seemed to snake with loathing and resentment. Letting one hand hang loosely in her pocket, she used the other one to slightly emphasize her words._

"_Look, Chuck, you knew and I knew that this would have to come to an end sometime," she said, keeping her eyes locked in his. He couldn't seem to look away, even as his heart was cracking into pieces. "It's over. You and I are through. I have to go back to my own life. You don't need me anymore. You are going on to do great things for this country and I have to find a place where I fit in again." She looked around, now looking a little embarrassed, as she had raised her voice slightly to speak those last thoughts._

"_Sarah…" was all Chuck managed to say. His eyes were wide with hurt and surprise and his heart only seemed to slow down because there was less of it to beat._

"_I'm sorry, Chuck. I never meant to hurt you. But we both have to move on. It's better for us, it's better for the agency…" she looked away from him again. "Good luck with everything."_

_Chuck quickly found the use of his extremities and grabbed her arm, twirling her back around to look at him. He was able to hold her in place, despite her attempt to get out of his grasp. He held her still until she looked up into his hurt, anguished face. Her eyes seemed to soften, and she blinked, pulling her head as far away from him as she could._

"_Look me in the eye," said Chuck through clenched teeth, "look me in the eye and tell me you don't love me."_

_She bit her lip, now regretful. "I'm sorry, Chuck...I don't."_

* * *

The two days preceding the big meet were unlike Chuck had ever experienced. The activities were structured something akin to a training camp, but in regards to informational rather than physical sessions. The members of Wallstreet treated the time they spent together with a respect Chuck had never seen; they weren't simply mindful of whoever was speaking, but paid attention with such vigor they might have thought this training would gain them entrance into an afterlife.

Every hour of every day was spent training the members on how to use different weapons. Many of the members were relatively new, a couple months with the gang, and had little knowledge about worldwide weapons trade. Chuck was able to discern former law enforcement officials and that most members were much younger than they initially appeared. All had a coldness to their demeanor that infested everyone surrounding them.

Though he never had the chance to ask Sarah or Casey, Chuck found it strange how little time Kipper spent with his people. Other insurgent leaders Chuck had encountered found it their business to be at the forefront of every mission, to lead their team into battle and command control of those who they expected loyalty. But Kipper's people followed his directions to a T even when the man was not present. This begged the question, in Chuck's own mind, what had Kipper done to these people to gain their unwavering allegiance?

And where did he go all the time? In the forty-two hours leading up to the exchange, Kipper spent a total of five with the group at large, and another five with some of his leading experts. Chuck knew it was improbable the man was here, in the city, completely alone; he must have a handler or contact somewhere, but why his people did not grow suspicious of his absences was beyond him.

To his slight surprise, but great relief, the members had separate jobs and training for the women. He saw Sarah for the meals, and during one large training session with Kipper. She was able to tell him that her time with the women was spent exploring dark infiltration tactics; she thought they were planning something much larger than what they initially suspected.

The last ten hours before the meet were split up into two portions. After being up for over thirty hours straight, all members were instructed to go get eight hours of sleep, then reconvene back at base for the remaining two hours, where some very important information would be discussed.

Sarah and Chuck collapsed on the bed the moment they laid down and were interrupted abruptly five hours into a very heavy sleep by Casey barging into the room. Chuck sat straight up, dropping Sarah's head from his chest to his lap. She sat up quickly, dazed.

"Cuddling? Still protecting the cover?" he asked, pulling a chair to the bed.

Chuck rubbed his eyes, nonchalantly. "We fell asleep, Casey. And we were asleep, very deeply. Why are you awake? None of us have had any sleep in over a day and a half."

"What's wrong?" asked Sarah. She fixed her clothes and positioned herself just far enough away from Chuck to make the distance seem natural for exes.

"I just received some intel about the weapons we're encountering in less than ten hours," Casey said, growling. "Either Kipper neglected to mention this, or he doesn't know. I don't know which is worse." He laid out the papers he was holding on the floor, and they all huddled around the diagrams.

Chuck flashed. Electronic imports, the new generation of weapons technology designed to target localized subsystems of electronic, wireless, or cable wiring. Each gun, designed to look, feel, and act like a firearm, was programmed to take out control systems upon firing. Aim, fire, lights out. Designed by Middle Eastern terrorists, their concepts were sold to African government militia, then to Russians. No names, no faces, no codes were associated with these plans. No one knows where they were acquired from but there were several images of news articles declaring random power outages and unexplained robberies.

"Holy crap," said Chuck. He shook his head. The weight of that flash had downloaded all the information he saw in front of him now. He rummaged through the pile, looking for something in particular. He found a small blueprint, similar to the one in his flash, but different in that it had been copied from the original. He held it up, wondering why he'd chosen this one.

"What is it?" asked Casey, leaning in to look at the paper. Sarah leaned in, too.

"I don't know, the Intersect made this one feel important," said Chuck. He turned the paper over in his hands, examining it from multiple angles. The handwriting was familiar, but only through the Intersect. "This handwriting…"

Casey took the paper from him and pulled something out of the bag he'd brought with. A magnifying glass? He got up off the floor and brought the paper to the lamp, leaning low over it and examining the handwriting carefully.

"Code? Style?" asked Casey. "What do you think?"

Chuck stood up, gazing at a spot on the wall, trying to refresh the information in his brain. "No, just familiar." He smacked his head, and began walking in large circles around the room. "There's too much inside here. They want me to download so much, but then when I need to recall certain information, it gets lost within the incredulous mess of data, images, and facts."

Casey and Sarah exchanged a glance. Casey walked over to him. "Chuck, sit down for a minute." Casey led him to a chair and held him down with his hands. "You can't have your brain overloading, you need it clear. Look, Beckman just wanted us to be aware of these. Kipper isn't just neglecting us three, he's not training anyone. Either he knows and wants it kept a secret, or he doesn't know and these weapons aren't going to be in the trade. All Beckman said was there was a package waiting for me regarding the meet and we should become familiar with the weapons."

"Wait, so how did Beckman find out about these?" asked Sarah.

"Our agents in Russia observed them being transported earlier this week and just obtained the specs for the individual weapons a day or so ago," said Casey. "The Pound is in transit with them as we speak. They are in their possession."

"So we can assume if they don't like what is going on that they will use the weapons against Wallstreet?" asked Sarah.

"These weapons are used for distractions," said Chuck opening his eyes at long last. "They aren't technically weapons, they're defense mechanisms. They are impossible to use against another human being because only electronic waves are sent from them, essentially encoded data. One sends sounds, but those are for infrared sensors."

Casey walked around the room, thinking hard. "So Wallstreet tries anything funny and the Pound uses their electronic waves to disable an immediate response from the gang, the gang is left blind while the Pound flies away with their money while retaining the weapons brought for the sale."

"That's another thing," said Chuck. "Why the heck is Wallstret buying these weapons? These members seem like coldblooded assassins, but entirely inexperienced with even the basic of the most advanced firearms."

Casey grunted. "That was my perception, too. I don't know why. They're a gang, they want to get involved. Good networking."

"It was my understanding that they desire more undercover missions," said Sarah. She too walked down the narrow room, adjusting her clothes in the warm light of the sun streaming in through the tinted windows. "Although the weapons we are being briefed on are larger in size than what we might expect, I believe they are planning something with a greater infiltration schematic that requires these things in the end."

"Beckman wants us to acquire the electronic weapons and make the whole thing look like an additional, albeit rogue. mission," said Casey. "Apparently, this will cause Kipper some trouble, but the CIA plans on extracting him should his cover be compromised. The priority, however, is the new weapons."

Chuck stood up from his chair quickly, but as he opened his mouth to speak, Sarah flew in with her own exclamations. "She wants us to grab the weapons in the middle of a trade between two mercenaries with no alliance? That is suicidal."

"Our Russian intelligence says that there will be a limited number of Pound members on this mission. Apparently they use temporary hires for new buyers, which is why they use electronic impulses versus firearms. They want to escape with their leaders in tact and not risk a blow out that sends their top operatives six feet under," said Casey. "And it's not suicidal. Chuck is more than capable of this."

Chuck crossed his arms. "That very well may be, but even the Intersect can't distract two terrorist organizations while taking the weapons out of their hands. These weapons look and feel like the real thing, but it would be impossible to trick gunmen trained in their special weaponry."

"We have to come up with a way, then," said Casey, his mouth turning grim. "Either right now or on the spot. This is the highest level priority. Apparently, there is no stopping these weapons once they've been deployed. They can be copied and reproduced simply by copying some sort of internal membrane."

"What, like ripping video game software?" asked Chuck, doubtfully.

Casey nodded, seriously. "Yes."

Chuck stopped rolling his eyes. "Oh." His head spun with the possibilities that concept ushered in. The potential for regular people, like Morgan, the unsuspecting acquirer of all things free, was not only possible, it was likely. The system was like a virus, infect one gun and there is the possibility to affect all.

"What is it, Chuck?" asked Casey, stepping forward.

"We've got to get these weapons. We've got to find a way to counteract them," he said, his voice not much louder than a whisper. "These could, quite literally, be the end of international warfare as we know it." He walked to the plans and toed them with his foot. "They can take down planes, interfere with secure broadcasts, tap into government offices. If they've developed code to disable networks and wireless transmitters, the step to manipulating and acquiring information from those same systems is just another breath away."

Casey exchanged a look with Sarah. "Chuck, since you know the details of these weapons, I think it's best you get sleep. With your head acting up lately, we can't have you powering off when we need the Intersect the most. You take my room, Walker and I will stay in here to familiarize ourselves with the details."

Chuck raised an eyebrow. "Um…" he looked from Casey to Sarah, then back to Casey. "Are you sure? I mean, I could be of help…"

Sarah shook her head. "Casey's right, Chuck. This is what we'd be doing if we were sitting in Castle…I mean, the Amulet."

Chuck shrugged. His head was feeling groggy and he knew that when he was tired, the Intersect came less readily to him. If there was one thing he could agree with, it was that he always needed sleep. And he certainly didn't want Casey tranquing him again.

"Alright, whatever," he said. He walked to the door. "Bt you will come get me if you encounter any problems?"

"Of course," said Sarah. "Get some rest."

Chuck left the room, dragging his feet. Casey shuffled the papers together and spread them out again across the table, instead of the floor. "Sometimes the depth of the Intersect actually surprises me," said Casey, in a low mumble. "Can you imagine the amount of information encoded into that kid's brain?"

"I am worried about his ability to process it," said Sarah. "I know he's capable, but what if the body wasn't meant to endure a process like this for extended periods of time. Plus, he downloaded an _updated_ version of the Intersect on top of the old one."

Casey shrugged, but he, too, looked concerned. "Our best analysts seem to think Chuck is one of the few who actually has the brain power necessary to utilize the Intersect effectively. His test results speak for themselves."

Sarah watched him for a moment. "But even you have your reservations. You put him out on the plane."

Casey grunted. "Just because he's an annoying little twerp who never obeys orders."

Sarah shook her head. "You know something Casey," she said, catching his eye and holding his gaze. "Where did you go, the other day? What mission does the NSA have for you, apart from us? They've never done something like this before."

Casey gritted his teeth. "Look, Walker, it's not that you don't have the proper clearance, it's just that everything they are having me do will go a lot smoother with fewer people involved. Chuck cannot know about what I'm doing, in any shape or form. Frankly, I don't trust that you two have unofficially ended your relationship, which means telling you is a liability too."

Sarah frowned. She looked offended and upset. "I had to move on, Casey. I was serious when I broke up with Chuck." She cleared her throat, sat up straight, and turned back to the papers on the table. "We're both moving on."

"Heh," Casey said, something ringing in his memory. He chuckled again. "That's right…Ol' Chuck met someone new. Heather…" He watched Sarah for clues, but she played her part well, looking disinterested and detached. "Huh. I really didn't think he'd be the first to move on."

"Why do you say that?" asked Sarah, still examining the papers in front of her.

Casey watched her another moment, then shook his head and turned to look at his own set of papers. "No, never mind. He would be first to move on. You have to wait for another partner to fall in love with." He snorted. "And you did crush him into a million little pieces. There wasn't a soul at Harlington who didn't know what happened. Way to fly under the radar, by the way. If they didn't know something was going on before, well…"

Even though the signs were clearly there, that Chuck was moving on, Casey still found it curious that he'd only heard chatter of this Heather through the mics in Chuck's apartment. There was no visual evidence yet. Where had Chuck met Heather? Who was she? Shouldn't the CIA and NSA be thoroughly concerned about whom their highest-level intelligence asset was dating?

* * *

Irina Kopp drummed her fingers on the armrest. The warm, personal jet looked intentionally out of character, both internally and externally, for the cargo it carried. To the Brazilian air defense and traffic control, the aircraft carried Russian dignitaries in town to meet privately with domestic investors. Brazil wasn't known for its by-the-book investments, and usually profited tremendously from the shady business dealings, thereby compensating all involved who might need to look the other way as a small, unidentified aircraft soared into the Palmira Islet.

"You are nervous?" asked Irina's companion, who simply went by Dmitri. He was a bulky man, a cage fighter in another life, and had the agility of a ballet dancer. Though Irina would never admit it to his face, Dmitri was the most valuable asset to the Pound operation in Russia next to her.

Irina gave him an icy look. He shrugged apologetically. "Fine, then, you are irritated."

"What gave it away?" asked Irina, her annoyance further agitated. She enjoyed the man's company, and in some strange way, was attracted to him, but when he spoke only to state the obvious, particularly in a situation like this, she had less tolerance for his magnetism.

"Ms. Roberts will be fine at your estate," he said, shifting in his seat, looking bored with the topic. It had been the height of conversation since leaving Moscow ten hours ago.

Irina rolled her eyes. "I know this, but the girl is restless."

Now sitting with his eyes closed, Dmitri smiled out of one side of his mouth. "Like a little hummingbird." He smacked his lips sarcastically. "Yes, we know." Behind him, the men assisting the operation chuckled and grunted in approval.

Irina glared at the operatives, even though they could not see her. She was annoyed with them all. She did not trust them and she did not think they respected her. Her nerves were on the line because she had never before been so unsure of the result of a mission. Ideally, this would be a simple trade. Kipper, the Native American man, was said to be a straight shooter and would not make them tip toe around the trade. He would get the transfer, get them the money, and hopefully kick them out of the country by dawn.

She leaned toward the window. Her seat was large and nearly had to slide in order to get a better view of the landscape. The sun had just set and the lights of Rio de Janeiro were bustling with activity. She did a lot of business in this area, but never enjoyed her time here. The River of January organization had long since established their presence within Wallstreet, which was essentially the only reason she'd agreed to the trade.

"Did you read the intel Borgov sent two days ago?" asked Dmitri.

"About the new members?" asked Irina, looking away from the window with relief. The mesmerizing effect of the window's view annoyed her; until someone broke her concentration, she found it impossible to look away. Weak.

"Yes," said Dmitri, sitting forward.

"It was worthless," said Irina. "He gave us _Baylor_, no first names or descriptions. It was like he did not know who they are."

"Maybe they're nobodies," said Dmitri.

"Unlikely." Irina began drumming her fingers on the armrest again. "Who trained that man? He needs to be shot in the head."

Dmitri snorted. "Probably Antov. Details are like shedded hairs to that man, worthless." The big man took a deep breath. "He's never failed us, though. If they posed some sort of threat, he would have included every detail."

"When does he get to make that choice? When have our spies ever made that choice? He tells us everything about everyone and then we decide who is important, who is threat." She scoffed and shifted in her seat, like her legs were agitated. "All we get is, 'A man with hair like the sun,' and, "His wife the beauty of his beast,'" said Irina. She pictured a redhead. "Who does he think he is? Chekov?"

They sat in silence for some time. The plane began circling around an area with fewer lights than elsewhere in the city and Irina recognized the Palmira shoreline. They would land close to the warehouse where the exchange would be made. Since the warehouse had been positioned on a road where little activity took place and the buildings and houses were generally abandoned, they were able to land on a long strip of highway and position the plane within the large dirt covered area right outside the warehouse.

From the cockpit, the co-pilot, an exiled Frenchman, peeked into the main cabin. "Irina, we shall be landing in just under ten minutes."

"Thank you," said Irina, with a quick flick of her hand. "Let's get started, eh?"

Dmitri nodded and unbuckled. "You will be okay up here?"

"Yes, yes," said Irina. "I've done this many times."

Without another word, Dmitri took the temporary operatives and led them into the cargo hold where they would prepare their defensive weapons before landing. The small, two deck airplane had been designed specifically to appear as though the upper level was not actually there. Irina went on nearly every mission and, as a prerogative to the larger operation at hand, monitored activity on the ground via high-tech surveillance. For this particular mission, she was to use the information provided by the spy inside Wallstreet to tap into the gang's surveillance. The gun was unable to grant her control of the cameras and feeds, but it at least enabled her to provide her operatives with some warning should anything go wrong.

Things only went wrong in about sixty percent of operations, usually because the temps got overexcited.

The seat Dmitri sat in turned into a bench once the chair flipped down. Within the bench were the monitoring screens, controls, and microphones that enabled her to observe the meet. All she needed was immobility and a clear shot at the closest camera and she would instantly have access to all feeds inside the warehouse. She'd done it before, this was a cinch; to her knowledge, Wallstreet would never suspect a thing.

Their new defense weapons would be a trial, however. Even she and Dmitri could not always tell which weapons were the electronic disrupters and which were the firearms. She had a great deal of faith in Dmitri's abilities as a negotiator and salesman, perhaps too much faith, and therefore expected little to no trouble.

And because Hummingbird was safe in Russia, Irina's attention could be solely focused on the Herring, the name they'd given to the newest of the new weapons. The Herring was modeled after the M14 Socom II gas-operated semi-automatic, a powerful weapon with pinpoint accuracy. The barrel, just over sixteen inches, had been internally modeled to hold the newest specimen of electronic weapons. Great destruction was possible through the disabling of an enemies computer grid, and this was the only one of its kind to accomplish such an arduous task.

The Herring fired a virus.

Wallstreet was the perfect trial run for testing their product. Pound had a man on the inside, moving quickly up in the ranks despite his slight incompetence as a thorough investigator. Borgov would be able to monitor the process of the virus, watch as the gang slowly lost control of their systems as an unbeknownst predator overtook their operation. And as Wallstreet made contact with other gangs and other terrorist organizations, the virus would spread and morph into whatever it needed to be. This was a virus hungry for information, for data, to retrieve secrets.

Pounds plans were finally coming to fruition and Irina was at the forefront of the battlefield. The excitement coursed through her as the images popped up on the screen. Fuzzy and grainy at first, the system in front of her was designed to automatically enhance the pixels so that they might run identity checks on everyone. Naturally, the only thing Pound would need surveillance for was to monitor activity, nothing espionage related. Despite what they might think, Wallstreet was an infant operation. They desired much but have the experience of an under-qualified executive.

Though, looking back on their history, Irina had to admit Wallstreet had quite a few impressive assassinations to its name. They were nothing if not ambitious, just lacking general organization. According to Borgov, their current ring-leader Kipper might actually bring about some change.

That was no matter. The Pound didn't want competition, they wanted pawns, and Wallstreet would serve that purpose.

Irina stared closely at the screens as the computer processed and formatted the visual data they received from the surveillance cameras. Eighteen cameras were hidden around the compound. The three facing the landing strip and general direction of the Pound's aircraft were extremely detailed. She counted fifteen men inside, hidden from intruders, but not from their own cameras. There was also one woman, perched in the rafters in the largest hanger. The computer was able to recognize her as a Bolivian criminal, who did time back in the mid 90s for armed robbery at a Brazilian chain of government banks. She had escaped and was never found.

Focusing her attention back on the cameras facing the outside field, Irina immediately recognized the shocking blonde hair of the man Borgov had described. She could only see his back, but there was something oddly familiar about his manner. She sat back in her chair and watched her own men approach the small group of five.

Next to her on the chair, Irina stroked the M14 absentmindedly. Whoever these new men were, they would not stand in her way. Her mission tonight was to fire the virus, test the weapon, finally, on an affiliate camp, and if possible get her men out of the country as a testament to the ability of the M14 and the true mission at hand. The weapons they were trading were of little consequence, they could give them up if they had to, but if anything screwed up the implantation of the virus, her employers would not be pleased.


	10. The Escape

**Chuck vs. the Virus**

* * *

* * *

**Chapter 9: The Escape**

The women were snipers. Each of them could hit an orange taped to a small remote controlled car moving throughout the warehouse from as much as a hundred yards away. Sarah fit in perfectly. Many, she knew, were skeptical of her. The role she had entered into probably looked submissive, as they had intended. If John looked like the leader, and Charlie looked like the bad ass, then she looked like the pretty girl they drug around for the distraction.

Of the five women, only one spoke English. The rest attempted to speak to her in Portuguese, but the closest Sarah came to their language was Spanish, and not Peruvian Spanish but variations of Columbia and Spain. Her Spanish, she knew with regret, was learned for the more proper forms of infiltration, not exactly the gang-level.

For the meet, the women were to be ghosts: unseen, unheard, elusive, and scary. Just when the enemy camp thinks they've got one up on W, as the women referred to the gang, the snipers would reveal themselves through sharp bullets right through the cranium. The six women took up their posts an hour before the meet. They were to get comfortable with their environment, develop unique tactics for whatever their location might permit.

Sarah had a clean view of the outside where the Pound jet would be landing. Henrietta, the English speaking Brazilian with short brown hair and burning black eyes, had insisted based on the results of the practice rounds. She did not strike Sarah as a trusting woman, but she did know the value of putting the best shot where the best would be needed.

The night was a deep blackness that shrouded the small camp in a large, dense shadow. Sarah was completely blind without her gun, which had a night vision viewfinder. She didn't like not being able to see Chuck and Casey without it; it seemed to make them further away.

Chuck and Casey stood with a group of five other men, waiting for the jet. Three of the five men, including Kipper, spoke English, and seemed to have a lot to say.

"Your wife calls you Charles," said one of the men. "Did you know this? My wife tells me she does not call you Charlie like everyone else." Sarah removed her eye from the viewfinder and thought about that comment. In private she only called him Chuck, but when around others, she realized she did indeed only call him Charles.

The sound was scratchy, but the voices came in clear through the coms. Casey grunted, and Sarah pictured Chuck grinning awkwardly.

"Do you find that funny?" asked Chuck.

The man laughed. "No, no. Just interesting." He said something in Portuguese to the other men, who made noises as though they understood what was going on.

Chuck whispered into Casey's ear. "He said, 'What, no pet name for her Sun Haired husband?'"

"Sun Haired?" asked Casey.

"Er, hair like the sun," said Chuck, "literally."

Sarah frowned. The observation of affection between spouses extended further than simply the physical, apparently the verbal counted as well. That was very perceptive, she thought, for a gang member.

Kipper hushed them. "Americans do it differently," he said. "A nickname does not carry the ease of speech as it does in Portuguese." He repeated his statement in Portuguese. The men grumbled.

"What does she call you in the bedroom, señor?" asked the first man, again. He laughed at his own comment loudly. Casey groaned and then the coms went silent. Sarah figured they must have turned them off. She rolled her eyes. As though she hadn't heard worse.

They'd seen a jet circle above head about ten minutes ago, and in the distance she could hear it returning. It was shocking, and a bit unsettling, to watch Chuck handle a firearm. He had always been against guns, and horrible at handling them; but now he looked like he was in his natural element, like the gun was a limb, not an accessory. She wasn't going to let it distract her, though. They had a job to do and finally Chuck could take care of himself.

Then again, if Chuck could take care of himself, what the heck was she doing here anyway? The CIA's decision to reinstate her into her old post was confusing at times, or curious, rather. She desperately wanted to be a part of this team, she knew the three of them functioned well together, but after threatening to fire her, and then her public humiliation of Chuck confirming their fears, she wondered if she was a part of a larger scheme.

It annoyed her that Casey had been forbidden from speaking of his solo mission, the one that regardless of where they went he seemed to have a piece of the puzzle to complete. There was always something to do in every location they visited.

The jet landed and she cleared her head. Time to focus. She lowered her weapon from the deep black shadows of her hiding place and peered through the viewfinder. The semi-automatic was thick between her fingers, but she held it with ease. It took twenty minutes for the Pound crew to get off the plane after the quick landing by the small aircraft. The plane looked odd, and Sarah kept the men in her sights all the way from the plane to the small group of me.

When the Pound members were about fifty yards away, another ten members of Pound came out of the Warehouse. Sarah knew the plan was to not reveal how many people were in the gang, if at all possible. However many men Pound brought out, Wallstreet would have at least two more.

Somehow, and perhaps this was just from her extensive work with and against terrorists, Sarah thought Pound probably knew everything about this gang operation in Brazil. The in-flight had given them all a false perception of their dealings, and even Agent Kipper's descriptions and _helpful hints_ were of little value on the ground.

Above Sarah's head, a security camera whirred and clicked. She froze. She'd taken the time to carefully examine her nook. It was accessible only by a wrought iron ladder, five feet to her right. She was wedged into a corner where Wallstreet had designed a sniper to sit; the chair was almost vertical, purposefully to tilt the sniper forward. Oddly comfortable, but not in a way that made the sniper complacent and forgetful. The camera was on a horizontal access. It swerved from side to side every ten seconds, and the end of Sarah's gun was just shy of breaching the camera's view.

Below, the men turned their coms back on and Sarah heard Kipper speaking with the Russians.

"Welcome to Rio," Kipper said, English being the mutually agreed upon language. None of the Russians spoke Portuguese, and only Chuck, presumably, spoke Russian. "Your flight was quick, yes?"

"It was airplane," said the man in front. He was large and beefy. "Dmitri Sho. We spoke on the phone."

"I recall," said Kipper. "I am Kipper, obviously." He shuffled toward the Russians. "Are we going to make this quick, or are we going to have a problem?"

"Do you have the money?" asked Dmitri.

"Do you have our weapons?" asked Kipper. The men had come with a single crate, not nearly large enough to hold all the weapons Wallstreet had ordered. One of the men behind Kipper pulled out his laptop and showed the screen to Dmitri. "All I have to do is enter my account information, then you your information, and our part of the deal is complete. But we have yet to see your contributions."

From her distance, Sarah could not distinguish the guns the men carried. She and Casey had poured over the specs, each very alarmed at how identical the units appeared. They had consented it would be only Chuck who possessed the advantage in detecting the difference. If she had to wager, however, Sarah guessed only the man in the very back held a real firearm.

* * *

The monitors were crystal clear, high definition for an espionage mission that might be blind otherwise. She snickered as she watched Dmitri and her men approach the small group. The man with flaming white hair was tall and thin and the man next to him, though slightly shorter, held the size and build of a military man.

She narrowed her eyes and leaned forward, switching the large frame to the different angles she had access to. The last one was a view from the top button of Dmitri's coat. Kipper was speaking to him, now, and looked quite at ease. Dmitri rotated to silently and motionlessly greet the other men standing around.

To her shock and amazement, she recognized the blonde man and his companion, both clearly American and very out of place. She quickly put on her com radio link.

"Dmitri, this is a direct order. You must not make the exchange. Get back on the place as quickly as possible," she said into the com. She got out of her seat and ran to the cockpit. "Pilots, the moment my men are on board, start the engines and get us out of here." Her head spun. What were the Americans doing here? Anger flared.

She marched back into the main cabin and picked the Herring up from the seat. Their ultimate objective would not fail.

This was why she would not let Jill come along. Something unforeseen would inevitably put an obstacle in their way and cause the girl trouble. Professionals, experienced and trained assassins and mercenaries, such as Irina herself, could handle these situations. But Jill was emotional, attached, and thoroughly unprepared for life as an active Pound operative.

As Irina made her way to the lower level of the plane, she prepared the Herring.

* * *

Chuck stepped forward when the man calling himself Dmitri introduced himself. The flash had associated him very closely with Irina Kopp, though that was of little surprise, what concerned Chuck was the man's behavior.

Dmitri twitched involuntarily and stepped backward, making the slightest of gestures toward his ear.

"Is something wrong?" asked Kipper, looking wary.

Chuck's eyes flickered to Casey, briefly, then beyond their group to the plane. Something was very wrong. Instinctively, Chuck knew that someone aboard that plane had recognized the undercover team, either himself or Casey, and that the mission was going to be a complete wash.

They had to get aboard that plane.

He turned to Casey, but looked beyond him into the open space. Casey raised an eyebrow, but Chuck ignored him. "Sarah," he said, through clenched teeth, "take out every camera you have in range." Ten seconds later he heard the faint sound of a camera being ripped off a wall, then two muffled gun shots.

"There are only two cameras on the outside of this building," said Sarah into the com. "They're both completely off the walls." She was silent for a second. "What about the antennas on top of the building?"

"Too dangerous," said Chuck, still looking at Casey. "Stay hidden in the shadows." The darkness was like black paint the way it hid the features of the men around them. The lights on the surrounding streets were not quite strong enough to spread light on the entire lot in front of the warehouse.

The Pound men raised their weapons and, as they did so, ten additional members of Wallstreet raced out of the warehouse brandishing much more intimidating weapons. Only the two men in the far back held weapons that could actually harm another human being, and they did not look like they were about to use them. But, regardless, they moved to the front of the throng and one of their comrades managed to put a jump on Kipper, holding him fast as a large rifle was pointed at his head.

"You're going to let my men and I walk out of here, calmly," said Dmitri. "You have not done as we requested, Mr. Kipper, and therefore we shall not be exchanging weapons today."

Several shots were fired and two men dropped to the ground. Both let out screeches of pain and, somehow, Chuck could smell the blood pouring from the bullet wounds. One voice continued on, while the other was muted indefinitely. Chuck felt Casey grasp the material of his shirt, holding him steady, ready to, surely, cast himself in front of Chuck if need be. Chuck grimaced and tried to push Casey off him. Regardless of what the Intersect enabled Chuck to do, it did not give him the strength to overpower a marine.

Dmitri and his henchmen looked around, confused; Dmitri waved his gun around, looking for the shooter, but none of the men standing around were holding their weapons in an offensive position and anyone beyond them was lost in the darkness of the early morning. Another couple shots rang out, these not as muffled, and the man holding Kipper flopped to the ground. Chuck had been staring directly at the man holding Kipper and saw the bullet hit the man squarely in his temple.

Chuck shuddered and looked away, horrified.

"Casey, we've got to get to that airplane," said Chuck, under his breath. "We've got to get the weapons." He turned around, looking at the men standing around, thinking quickly. What were his resources? After all the information he'd downloaded from the Intersect, what was it that would help him now?

He spotted the laptop, ready to transfer money into the Russian's account. He didn't flash, but had a brainwave of tremendous proportions. He didn't need the Intersect for this one, he had an idea from his own head. He hurried over to the small man, Juan, and took the laptop from him.

"Oi!" said Juan, reaching for the laptop. Chuck elbowed him in the face.

The Pound members were taking Dmitri and the remaining men to the ground and, in the distance, he could hear the engines of the plane begin to whir. Chuck dashed toward the plane, still holding the laptop. He could feel Casey right on his heels.

"Chuck, what are you doing?" Casey screamed, dropping all pretenses.

"If I can get close enough, I can hack the plane's onboard electrical system and shut down the engines," he said. "I just need to stall the plane somehow…"

"I'm on it," said Casey. He split off from Chuck and began running toward the head of the plane, firing at the tires, still motionless.

When Chuck determined he was close enough, he knelt on the ground and pulled up the computer's command prompt. A loud explosion wrenched him from his task. He looked up and saw that the front tires of the plane had been blown apart. Casey had dove out of the way, apparently he hadn't been the one to cause the damage. He lay still in the middle of the road, sprawled on his back.

"Sarah, Casey is down," said Chuck, looking up and around. "Where are you?"

"Chuck, I am fine. We have to get out of here. Drop whatever the hell you are trying to do right now and get back inside. If there are more people on that plane, they are more than just a threat to us, they are your death warrant."

"I am just about to disable the plane's electrical system," he said. "Just give me a moment."

"No, Chuck," Sarah yelled. "Stop it and get away from there."

The screen told Chuck he was a second away from flipping the switch that would power down the plane, but what he was doing didn't seem to have an effect on the plane's functions. The engines should be stalled, with an intruder into the system's console, but it seemed to only pick up its juice. He hit the kill button and there was a loud _whooshing_ noise.

Chuck looked up, expecting some sort of power down of the plane, but he saw the bottom compartment open like a hatch on a spaceship. A woman was hanging from ropes as the plane began to move.

"Chuck, get out of there!" Sarah was screaming now, but there was so much noise from the gunfire behind him, he could barely hear her.

Chuck stood up, still holding the laptop, and looked closely at the woman. It was Irina Kopp. She held a gun, a military weapon; the Intersect only knew its model, an M14 semi-automatic. He gulped. This could not be good. In one fluid motion, he closed the computer and prepared to dive.

Irina was aiming the gun at him, or so he thought. He heard the gun blast and braced himself for the piercing pain as he hurtled through the air. But the only pain he felt was as he landed on the dirt lot, scraping the side of his face and tearing his clothes.

From his horizontal position on the ground, and as though his eyes were masked with a fuzzy film, Chuck saw Irina ascend back into the plane. Before the blackness took over his body, the plane moved forward and Chuck heard the muffled sound of someone screaming his name.

* * *

Sarah was running to Chuck when he dove to the ground. The lot was chaotic with Wallstreet members gathering around the captured Pound agents. They all sounded mad and vengeful, a couple tried to follow Sarah, but she turned on them, pulling out her small weapon from her boot.

"If you follow me, I will kill you," she said, pointing the gun at them. Even though they held weapons of their own, they seemed to see something in her face that discouraged them from helping her.

She raced to Chuck and knelt beside him on the ground. "Chuck?" she whispered. "Chuck, can you hear me?" She slapped his face and bent low to feel for his breathing. She held her fingers against his throat. His pulse was fast and his breathing slow, almost as if he were sleeping, having a nightmare. She kissed his lips. "Chuck, please wake up." She kissed him again, feeling her eyes burn with exhaustion and emotional strain.

"Oi!" shouted a voice from behind her. She turned to look at the group again, and in what little light there was, she saw he was pointing to further up the road. In the direction he was pointing, a large, black van and come to a stop right in front of Casey and was loading him in through the side.

The breath caught in Sarah's throat. "Okay, Chuck, there is no time like the present to be awake. We've got to move." She slapped his face again, but he was as motionless as though he'd been tranqued.

Before she looked up again, she felt herself lifted off the ground, two enormous arms wrapped around her, completely overpowering. On the ground, two more figures, clothed entirely in black, lifted Chuck off the ground and brought them both to the van.

"As long as no one tries to follow us, no one will be harmed. The Supreme Federal Court has issued an outstanding warrant for the arrest of John Baylor and Charles and Sarah Baylor, international fugitives." Sarah heard the loud commanding voice from somewhere behind her. She continued to struggle, but now she knew that this must be an extraction team.

The man holding her threw her into the van with a bit of force, and she rolled against Casey. Then they set Chuck down with a loud thump and shut the door. Moments later, the van sped off, with all five of the extraction team spread out throughout the van. The three still masked took off their headgear. Sarah didn't recognize any of them.

"What is wrong with the asset?" asked one man. He had short dark hair and a very young and chiseled face. Sweat lined his forehead, but he looked composed and confident.

Sarah blinked. _The asset_, she thought, _does he not know Chuck is an agent now?_

"I don't know," she said, looking down at Chuck. She repositioned him on the ground and held his hand in hers, not caring about what the other agents might think. She still wore the ring, as did Chuck. She caught her breath again at the sight of them. "He dove to the ground for some reason, and then just…lost consciousness."

The man sitting in the front seat turned to face her. "We were monitoring your progress from an offsite location. When you took out the cameras, we decided to come in and extract you. Our most recent sources say that Irina Kopp was on that airplane."

Behind Sarah, Casey groaned and rolled over, pushing himself into an upright position. He looked around at his surroundings. "Where the hell are we?"

"Colonel Casey." The first man, the man with short dark hair, saluted Casey. "I am Major Arthur Pent of the United States Army. I was appointed to a special CIA team to oversee Brazilian-based CIA missions and have, for the last year, assisted General Halloway in the infiltration of the Wallstreet gang."

Sarah looked at Casey, who purposefully avoided her gaze. "Who is General Halloway?" she asked, in a low whisper. Casey did not acknowledge her question.

Major Pent turned to his left. The woman with long brown hair, and an equally young face, gave Sarah and Casey a grim smile. "This is Private Jenna Cole," he said, and to his right he nodded at the more experienced man, "and this is Special Agent Rick Addai." Pent narrowed his eyes at Sarah, but she held his gaze. "But you, Agent Sarah Walker, shouldn't you be aware of General Holloway?"

Casey cleared his throat. "Major, the information about General Holloway is above Agent Walker's clearance." Sarah stared at him, mouth hanging open slightly. _This General was a part of his solo mission. He had to be_, she thought, _what other reason would he have to keep it from me?_

Pent nodded. "My apologies." He looked at his watch. "We will be taking you to a secure facility where we can examine Mr. Bartowski, and then determine the next move." He gave Chuck a sideways glance, as though he recognized Chuck, but did not like what he saw. "That hair…"

Sarah and Casey sighed. "We know…"

* * *

The small room was not unlike a patient's room in a real hospital. It had white walls, a white bed with side bars, large pillows, and monitors that beeped and whirred. Chuck lay motionless on the bed, the covers pulled up to mid-chest. He'd been redressed into a white shirt and white pants, and when combined with his bleached blonde hair, his skin looked unnaturally pale and gaunt.

Sarah stood at the observation window. She'd wanted to go in, but everything she thought of, every excuse for why she might be sitting at Chuck's bedside, sounded lame and rehearsed. Not to mention the fact that she and Chuck were supposed to be broken up, in the eyes of everyone but themselves. She already feared she'd given too much away.

Casey appeared next to her. "The doctor has several theories as to what might be the problem, based on the current state of his vitals and general lack of information from blood samples. The only options left to us here are to take a couple various cultures, and if we have to, extract spinal fluid." He pulled out a small pen. Sarah looked down at it, then up a Casey. He clicked the end.

"Bug killer, we've got 120 seconds," he said. "Look, there isn't much I can tell you, and even less I want to tell you, but all I do know is that we cannot bring Chuck back to the Amulet in his current condition."

"What? Why not?" asked Sarah.

"I don't trust Agent Brook," said Casey, "at least not when it comes to Chuck. He has revealed way too many suspicious comments about Chuck as an active agent and I am worried to see what might happen to the kid if we brought him back there with no knowledge of his condition."

Sarah looked back at Chuck through the window. "I don't get it, Casey, what changed with you?"

Casey growled. "Don't read into it, Walker. I just know Chuck is valuable, and I don't think Brook shares that point of view." He frowned, now looking almost hurt. "I also know that you two haven't really broken up, so you can drop that whole act around me."

Sarah didn't try to deny it. This was bound to happen.

Casey looked at his watch. "What is the deal with Heather Burrows?" he asked.

"I created her as a cover," said Sarah, "for the breakup to work, he might need a rebound, or we might need a cover."

Casey breathed in deeply. "Well, all I can say is that it's working," he said. "The agency isn't suspicious at all. Which sort of worries me as well." His watch beeped. "My best bet is that he was hit with an EMP gun," he said, sounding official. Sarah guessed the watch beeping had been a timer. "There are no real studies to indicate their effects on humans, so it might have just short circuited his brain. Just a matter of time before he wakes up. You should go in and talk to him, sometimes a familiar voice can help pull people out of this faster. At least, that's what Major Pent says." He turned to walk away. "I'll let you know what the plan is, once I've heard from Langley."

From inside the room, the steady beeping of the monitors changed, and Chuck's heart rate increased. A door opened down the hall and the only doctor within the compound rushed toward them. He hurried inside the room and clicked a few buttons on one of the monitors. Sarah and Casey followed the doctor in.

"What is it, Dr. Kent?" asked Sarah, watching the doctor move around Chuck's bed.

Dr. Kent put a hand to Chuck's wrist to check his pulse manually. Then he pulled down his stethoscope to check his heart. He shook his head.

"All signs seem to show that Mr. Bartowski…" Dr. Kent began, looking up at Sarah and Casey.

"_Agent_," said Sarah and Casey, in unison.

Dr. Kent nodded apologetically. "That Agent Bartowski seems to be fully conscious. I think he can hear and understand us, he just cannot communicate with us."

"How is that even possible?" asked Casey.

Sarah rounded the bed and picked up Chuck's hand. "Chuck?" she asked softly. She ran her hand through his hair, which wasn't quite as soft after the bleaching as it used to be. "Can you hear me?" He didn't open his eyes, his eyes didn't even flicker. "If you can hear me, I want you to squeeze my hand." She left her hand pressed against his cheek. "Come on, Chuck. Squeeze my hand."

"Agent Walker," said Dr. Kent, kindly. "He may be able to hear you, but I believe something is inhibiting the synapses in his brain from delivering the necessary reactions from his brain to the nerves associated with the action. If this is the case, urging a response from him might frustrate him and send him into a coma."

Suddenly, the lights, machines, and electrical units in the room began flickering chaotically. The lights went on and off dozens of times and the monitors tracking Chuck's vitals flashed with strange characters and numbers with no meaning. The glass in the window and door began to shake as from somewhere, a high-pitched tone echoed throughout the room. The doctor dove off to the side and Sarah hopped onto Chuck's bed and covered him with her body. Casey pushed the bed as far away from the clear glass window as possible, while diving under the bed as it rolled. The glass shattered, sending fragments the size of a tennis racket hurdling toward Chuck and his protectors.

Throughout the hallways, the facility, and the local, surrounding buildings, computers flashed and sizzled like Kung Pao chicken on a frying pan, and all electrical units emitted the same loud, high-pitched noise they'd heard in Chuck's room. Windows and mirrors and any glass within a two-foot radius of any electrical unit shattered. Cars rocked in their parking spot and the ones in motion came to a screeching halt as the street lights blew out and sent glass raining from the sky. When the noise died away, the hum and crackle of the computers remained, and a small Russian character was inlaid onto the main screen of each. Then everything went black.

Chuck let out a long, slow groan and opened his eyes. Sarah still laid on top of him, but she sat up when she heard his groan. Her eyes were full of relief and she quickly pressed her lips to his. The lights turned back on a moment later and she pulled away.

"Oh thank God, Chuck," she said, pushing the gurney away from the wall. She got off the bed, but stood really still after taking a better look around the room. Casey and Dr. Kent were both picking themselves up off the floor, a few cuts and scraps and blood trickling from several places, but both seemed to be without serious injury.

Casey noticed Sarah staring at Chuck and turned his gaze. Chuck was staring up at Sarah, very confused, and clearly not noticing the large piece of glass sticking out of his arm. Dr. Kent approached Chuck's bed, watching the blood ooze from the enormous wound and stain the pure white sheets. Carefully, he lifted Chuck's arm and tried to pull it away from his body, but the shard had penetrated so deep it had gone completely through his arm and was wedged in his side.

Chuck let out a single gasp of pain, still having yet to look at the injury, and unconsciousness overtook him once again. Dr. Kent let go of Chuck's arm and stood back. "Agents, we've got a problem."

Casey stepped forward, intimidating in his stature. "What might that be, doctor?"

Dr. Kent swallowed hard. "I am a physician, not a surgeon. I cannot perform the extensive surgery this injury requires."

"Don't you have a medical staff on hand, in case something like this were to happen?" asked Casey, his eyebrows narrowing.

"We are primarily a research facility. Only the Army is on base to protect Kipper and other agents. I have no clearance to be performing surgery on other agents. We hardly even know who you are."

Casey took another step toward the smaller man, but Sarah rushed to stand in front of him. "Casey, we have to do something," said Sarah. "Can't we call a team from somewhere in the States? Or someone we can trust?" Casey took a deep breath and stopped his forward momentum toward the doctor. Sarah turned to face Dr. Kent. "Even though you can't perform surgery, can you preserve the injuries long enough for us to get a surgeon from the States down here? Say, ten hours?"

Frantically, Dr. Kent looked from Chuck to Sarah, and back to Chuck. "Yes, yes I think I can. Because the shard hasn't been removed, we can seal the wound for now. If I change the bandages and dressings every two hours, we can stave off infection."

"Good, do that," said Sarah. She grabbed Casey by his arm, right above the elbow, and pulled him out into the hall.

"We can call Devon," said Casey. "He's officially Chuck's CIA medical liaison."

"Great," said Sarah. "I will do that, you call Beckman and Brook and tell them something to keep them off our trail." They both pulled out their phones. Sarah's was blank. She tried to turn it on.

Sarah and Casey looked at one another, holding out their phones for the other to see. On their screens was the same character: an oval with a vertical line through the center. Then the symbol disappeared and their phones turned on, in perfect working order.

"What the…?" asked Casey.

"Doesn't matter, get on the phone with Beckman. Meet back here in ten," said Sarah. She hurried down the hall, holding her phone out in front of her as she searched for service.

* * *

Ellie was asleep in his lap when his special CIA phone rang. Devon's eyes widened and he carefully lifted Ellie's head as he stood up and replaced his lap with a pillow. She stirred only slightly and shifted in her sleep.

Devon hurried down the hall to their bedroom and found the phone Velcroed to the wall side of his bedside dresser. He looked at the screen.

"Sarah?" he said, under his breath. He answered the phone. "This is Devon Woodcomb."

"Devon, it's Sarah," she said. She sounded out of breath. "Chuck is in serious need of a surgeon we can trust."

The nerves in Devon's body froze. Her voice and her urgency frightened him, but only for a moment. The seriousness of the matter, and his ability to offer his expertise, empowered him.

"Where do you need me?" asked Devon.

"Listen to me carefully, Devon," said Sarah. "I need you to follow my instructions exactly. Do not ask questions, do not skip any steps, and do not, for the love of God, waste any time."

"Tell me what to do."

"First," said Sarah, still panting, "find your passport."


	11. Morphine and Ice

**Chuck vs. the Virus**

* * *

A/N: I will be touched if anyone is still bothering with this story. I apologize for the tremendous gap in updates, I just had a bitch slap war with my educational institution and have left appalled by the nerve of people who have too much power for their own good. I hope that isn't reflected in the story. Mwahahaha.

Hope ya'll are ready for a heavy Sarah-Chuck centered chapter…

* * *

**Chapter 10: Morphine and Ice **

"I've given him a lot of medication for the pain," said Dr. Kent, clutching his clipboard to his chest. "I've also given him a neuromuscular block, or a paralysis anesthesia, that will inhibit him from moving anything, really, but his facial features. He will regain consciousness very soon, and I will be back in just under two hours to change the bandages again. It will be your job to keep him from overreacting to his inability to move. Sometimes patients find the trauma and their limited mobility too much to handle. If he begins to over-stimulate himself, I will be forced to induce a coma until his doctor arrives."

The cut across Dr. Kent's temple had been bandaged in a very inconvenient way. Because of his hair, there wasn't much room for the bandage to stick, so Sarah had ended up wrapping his head for what was a very minor and insignificant wound, though prone to infection nonetheless. She had assured him that it looked worse than it was. He didn't seem accustomed to performing first aid on himself.

Sarah sat at Chuck's side, the one the shard of glass was not wedged into. She held his hand and paid close attention to Dr. Kent's words. "Can he drink anything? If he's thirsty?"

Dr. Kent looked at the clock. "I'm afraid not. I can get some ice so he can wet his tongue, but no liquids. We need to assume that Dr…" he searched for Devon's name, having only heard it in brief conversation.

"Woodcomb," said Sarah. "Devon Woodcomb."

"We need to assume Dr. Woodcomb will perform surgery within the half hour he arrives. I'm afraid that Agent Bartowski's condition is rather sensitive and I am already beginning to worry we've made a bad choice by flying a doctor in from out of the country. I would have preferred to use a local doctor, someone unconnected to…"

"With all due respect, doctor," interjected Sarah, looking annoyed, "there is no such thing as someone who is _unconnected_ in our line of work. Whatever you have to do to ensure Chuck makes a full recovery, please do it."

Dr. Kent nodded, regretfully. "Of course, Agent Walker. I will be monitoring his vitals closely." He excused himself and left the room.

Sarah turned to Chuck, who was still pale and motionless. His chest heaved up and down, but his face was so stationary he could have been dead. It hurt to see him like this and knowing she could do absolutely nothing, besides wait patiently, to aid his recovery. Sarah studied his face. She hadn't really had the chance to just look at him since they'd been teamed up again. It was too dark on the plane, and during training at the warehouse they hadn't exactly been together.

His face was thinner than at Harlington, and there were new lines and veins, most likely from his strenuous workouts. His chin and cheeks were showing signs of several days' shadow, a prickly black that aged him at least five years. But everything else was familiar, the Chuck Bartowski she had fallen in love with. Perhaps this was a good time to tell him she loved him.

Chuck made a sound, a faint smacking of his lips. "I'm more of a dog person," he whispered, hoarsely, "to be completely honest." Sarah stood up and bent low over his face, shielding the light from his eyes. Slowly they opened and his eyes smiled up at her.

"What did you say?" she asked, smiling back.

Chuck smacked his lips again. "I was just offering up a little tidbit," he said, "in case it is ever important. I'm more of a dog person."

Sarah laughed silently. "Me too." She kissed his lips lightly. His didn't seem to respond. When she pulled away, he looked confused. "What is it?"

"I can't move anything," he said, using his eyes to roam around the room. "Where am I?"

Looking around, Sarah could see why Chuck might think they were somewhere undesirable. Since the odd explosion, the small group of agents and army personnel had cleaned up best they could, but there was little equipment to repair the damage that had been done. The window stood empty, small shards of glass still stuck within the frame. The computers, while back to normal working order, made an odd clicking noise every ten minutes.

Sarah ran her thumb along Chuck's cheekbone and stared at him until he reconnected his eyes to hers. "The most important thing for you to do right now, Chuck, is to stay calm," she said, softly. "I need you to focus on your breathing, and unclench anything that feels tense. Your paralysis is medically induced to keep you from furthering your injury."

Chuck's face, if possible, turned paler. "What injury?"

"There was a minor explosion earlier, in this room," she said. "You are going to be fine. We already have Devon en route to come perform surgery."

"Sarah," he said, narrowing his eyes and looking grim. "Tell me exactly what is wrong with me."

She took a deep breath, looking as though she'd rather do anything than tell him what was currently pinning his arm to his side. She continued to run her thumb down Chuck's cheek, careful not to disturb the bed. Her eye flickered quickly to the shard of glass in his side, but it wasn't quickly enough, his eyes roamed in the direction hers had taken, and his head even moved a little to aid the sidelong glance.

"Oh my gosh," he said, shutting his eyes tight. "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh. Sarah, please tell me that isn't what I think it is."

Sarah caught her breath. "Depends on what you think it is."

"An enormous shard of glass wedged in my arm," he said, his eyes still tightly shut.

Sarah shut her eyes too. "Chuck, it isn't as bad as it looks." She thought of Dr. Kent's bandages and, in comparison, Chuck's was way worse than it looked, but she could not let him know that. "Dr. Kent isn't a surgeon, so we called Devon. He's going to be able to fix you right up and we will be on our way."

They opened their eyes at the same time, except Chuck's were wide with remembrance. "Sarah, Irina Kopp was on that airplane," he said.

Sarah nodded. "Yes, we know."

"She shot at me," he said. "I saw her repelling down from inside the plane. She had an M14 and she shot at me. I dove out of the way and I think she missed because only the ground really seemed to hurt. The computer…I was using a computer to try and access the onboard electrical system, but it wasn't working. I think I hacked into a ghost system."

Sarah stood up straight. "Wait, Irina shot at you? Are you sure?"

"I heard the gun go off! It's a semi-automatic, I would think everyone in a mile radius could have heard it."

Sarah frowned. "Chuck, no gun went off, and certainly not an M14." She stepped away from the bed. "I was wondering why you dove to the ground. It was as if you were trying to avoid being shot at." Chuck's eyes began darting around again, the whites of his eyes were bloodshot and the skin around his lids was turning red with strain. Sarah leaned in again. "Chuck, what is it?"

"I can't move," he said. "Why can't I move my legs?" He pressed his eyes shut. "My leg itches."

Sarah looked worried. "Where? Can I do it?"

Chuck tightened his mouth and grimaced. "I want to itch my own leg," he said, in a low growl, spit flying out of his mouth. "Why the hell can't I itch my own leg?" His breaths quickened and his eyes flew open wide, unblinking, as though he was trying to overpower the paralysis. "Why can't I move?"

The monitors began to indicate his blood pressure was rising, as was his heart rate. Sarah leaned close to his face until his eyes focused on her. "Listen to me Chuck, you have to calm down. Breathe. Shut your eyes and just listen to my voice."

Chuck gruffed, his eyes staying open. His heart rate leveled, at a quickened pace. "I don't need to calm down, Sarah, I need to itch my leg."

"I will itch your leg," she said, moving down to the end of the bed. "Just tell me where."

Rolling his eyes, his mouth softened, but only slightly. "Le-left leg, shin…" He didn't watch her pull up the sheets to reach underneath. "Higher, okay." His eyes shut and his heart rate calmed down. "Uhhh…" he said, in one long moan.

Sarah smirked. "Does that feel better?"

Chuck opened one eye. "Yes."

"Are you alright? How do you feel?" asked Sarah.

"Annoyed," said Chuck, shutting his eyes again. "Why can't I move my body?"

"Do you really not remember?" asked Sarah. She tucked the sheets back in and rounded the bed to stand by his head again. "Do you remember our conversation two minutes ago?" She bent down and ran her hand through his hair. His brow was lined with sweat.

Chuck's face fell, his eyes still closed. "Everything hurts," he said. "My arm is killing me. Did I land on it when I dove?"

Behind Sarah, the door opened and Dr. Kent walked in holding a glass of ice. She turned around. Her expression must have spoken for her, because he asked the question on her mind.

"Is he acting strangely?"

Sarah accepted the glass of ice from him. "Yes. He doesn't remember the conversation we had just a couple minutes ago."

Dr. Kent examined the printout from the monitors. "I am injecting him with a spinal morphine-anesthesia, which is an experimental procedure, but effective nonetheless. However, memory loss is common among patients under even general anesthesia, so I would assume that his memory loss would occur even without intervals of sleep." He pointed to a spike in the steady line on his chart. "When his heart rate rose, the morphine also went up to match the adrenaline."

"That doesn't make sense," said Sarah. "He was just explaining something to me, he wasn't over exerted."

"What was he explaining? Something that happened right before he crashed the first time?" asked Dr. Kent.

"Yes," said Sarah. "He was doing exactly that."

Dr. Kent nodded, unconcernedly. That angered Sarah. "If it happens again, I will take another look, but all indications are, right now, that what just happened is normal in this situation. His vitals are stable, again, and he isn't losing more blood than he's taking in. As long as the surgeon arrives on schedule, we don't have anything to worry about."

He looked at Chuck, whose eyes were open again. He looked curiously at the doctor. "Who are you?"

"Agent Bartowski, I am Dr. Kent. After our team extracted you from Wallstreet's warehouse, you were brought here under my care." Dr. Kent stepped toward the bed so that Chuck didn't have to strain his head so entirely.

"What happened to your head?" he asked, eyes wide.

Dr. Kent smiled. "Believe me, its not as bad as it looks. Minor cuts."

Chuck's eyes looked around for Sarah. "Sarah?" he asked.

"I'm right here, Chuck," she said, smiling as she came into his line of view again. "What do you need?"

"We didn't get the weapon, did we?" he asked, sounding disappointed.

Sarah sighed, her smile falling. "We can't worry about that right now, Chuck. You are our first priority." The doctor motioned he was going to leave, and she nodded. When he left the room, Sarah picked up an ice cube from the glass and showed it to Chuck. "Need to wet your tongue?"

"That would be nice," he said. He opened his mouth and she set it in. He swished it around for a moment, then let it sit. "Cold. That feels good."

Sarah put a hand to his forehead. He was undoubtedly running a temperature. It frustrated her that she did not understand enough about medicine to diagnose the situation. Did his fever change anything medicinally? Did it mean his body was fighting off infection, or did it mean his body couldn't handle a foreign object inside his body for this long? The shard of glass in his side made her cringe every time she looked at it; there was nothing about the current situation that would redeem the task the CIA had set before them. They had not accomplished any of their goals, and they'd probably made Agent Kipper's situation more troubling.

"What are you thinking about?" Chuck asked. His eyes had regained some of the whiteness, but they still looked wrought with exhaustion.

Sarah smiled to mask her concern. "Nothing, just…random thoughts." She stroked his face with her fingers again. "What are you thinking about?"

He tossed the ice cube around in his mouth before answering. "Am I dying?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Of course not. Why would you think that?"

He stared up into her eyes, serious and detached. "Because I can't move and you won't tell me why."

She pulled her head back, curiously. "I just don't want you to freak out."

"I can handle it," he said. "I just want to know why I need surgery. Dr. Kent said, 'As long as the surgeon arrives on schedule, we have nothing to worry about.'"

Sarah gave him a reluctant grin. "Devon is coming down to perform your surgery. He's been in the air for almost three hours. The trouble is, your condition will become time sensitive if we don't keep your wound clean and your vitals stable."

Chuck's eyes looked frustrated again. "What wound?"

"There is a shard of glass the size of a three-ring binder in your arm, Chuck," said Sarah, after a moment of hesitation. "It's pinning your arm to your side."

Chuck's eyes fluttered with nausea. "That's disgusting."

"You asked," she said. "But we can talk about other things to keep your mind off it. Or, else, maybe you want to try sleeping?"

"You need sleep too," said Chuck. "You've had less than I've had over the last twenty four hours."

Sarah sighed. "That doesn't matter," she said. Then her eyes roamed around Chuck's face for a moment. "That does remind me though, I guess Casey knows about…us."

"What?" said Chuck, louder than he intended. "Did you tell him?"

Sarah shook her head. "No, of course not. I don't know how he knows. He didn't know yesterday, but he knew today. He also knows about Heather."

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Great. Now we have to break up for real."

"Really?" asked Sarah, raising an eyebrow. "That is your genius solution after all I went through to secure Heather's identity?"

"At the expense of my dignity," said Chuck, scoffing. "Our breakup was humiliating. Imagine Intersect 2.0, and former Nerd Herder extraordinaire, being dumped by the most beautiful woman in the world." He smiled. "I guess we could at least hear your ideas."

Sarah blushed. She bent down and kissed his lips. "You're so sweet, Chuck," she said. "But, honestly, I think Casey is okay with it. He seemed almost impressed, even if he was unsurprised."

"So our cover is still intact?" he asked. "What about the cameras in this place?"

"Whatever electrical storm happened when we brought you here knocked out any glass, so the cameras are busted," said Sarah, looking around the room. "I don't really know where 'here' is, though, so we may be under some other sort of surveillance."

"And we're not worried about that?" asked Chuck, surprised.

Sarah shrugged. "If this is the price I have to pay…" she leaned over and kissed him again.

"We're never going to have a normal relationship," said Chuck, between her light kisses, "are we?"

"You're telling me you want normal? You're the one who downloaded the new intersect," she whispered.

"Good…good point," said Chuck. "Even so. Don't you ever just want to get away from it all? Not worry about what the next mission will ask us to compromise?"

Sarah pulled her head back and Chuck frowned. She held his gaze for a moment. "Sometimes, yes," she said, honestly. "But I've never really known a life without the job, it seems unnatural and…I don't know if I could do it."

"You're telling me if you had a million dollars, you wouldn't at least try to run away, to disappear?" he asked.

"I guess, maybe…" said Sarah. "Why do you ask?"

Chuck looked around the room. "How many times have we been in a hospital, Sarah? For you, me, my sister…? How many times have I stared down the barrel of a gun and wondered, 'Will I ever see Ellie again?' or 'Will I ever see another sunrise?' How many times have you woken up in the morning and realized your day is being completely dictated by people with unknown objectives and motivations? How often do you really get to see the whole story?"

There were several moments of silence following Chuck's declaration. Sarah stared into his eyes, thinking, he blinked his own tiredly and absently, as though he'd said everything he needed to say and he was ready to bow out for a while.

"I've been more of a here and now kind of person," said Sarah, finally. "One of the things I've learned from working with you, though, is the ability to think about the _what-ifs_ or _how-things-could-be_, even if I know they can never be that way." She sighed, watching his eyes open and close slowly. "I've always admired your desire for a normal life, something mundane and repetitive. I've never had that, so I could never really know what that feels like. But I think…I think with you, I think I could enjoy that." His eyes shut completely, now, and the smile on his face started to fade. "But I also don't know why you would want to go back to your life before," she whispered. "Things changed for you in so many ways. Your life, even though it is _dictated_ by those at a higher pay grade, is so valuable to the survival of billions of people. Don't you see that?"

When his chest began heaving up and down, and his breaths became heavy and steady, she leaned in close and kissed his lips. She pulled the chair up close beside his bed and rested her head near his elbow, reaching one long arm to touch his hair, some part of his face. The closeness was nice. The unguarded pseudo-hospital room was a welcome relief to the stingy and impersonal ones at the Amulet and other various CIA hospitals.

"And one of the many reasons I'm in love with you, Charles Bartowski," Sarah said, outloud, in a voice barely over a whisper, "is that you don't know how important you are." There. She said it. It probably didn't really count, since Chuck was technically asleep, but she had now admitted outloud, to herself, and to whoever was listening in.

For good measure, she made it clear. "I love you, Chuck."

* * *

The trip back to Russia was long and stressful. Irina Kopp's fluctuated from fury to exasperation to curiosity, and back to fury. She paced the cabin impatiently, finding sitting nearly impossible, and checked on the cargo load every hour out of a need to do something.

Three high-level pound agents met Irina at the small airstrip just outside of Moscow and drove her to headquarters. She told them the gist of the story, amidst her huffs of frustration, but waited to tell the entire story until all directly concerned party members were present.

They sat together at the large round conference table in one of the upper level rooms of headquarters. It had one large window overlooking the city; the other walls were a light wood finish with several shelves of binders and old photographs of esteemed Pound members.

"And you are sure it was the CIA agents who infiltrated our compound before?" asked Korbov, the high-most Pound leader present.

"Without a doubt," said Irina, pounding her fist on the table. "The man was starkly blonde but I'd know his face anywhere. The impertinence." She stood up and walked to the window, her heels clacking in time with her scoffs. She crossed her arms and stared across the small city. It was evening; car lights lit up the streets as the sun set behind the building.

The woman next to Korbov, who looked like a stout mushroom, cleared her froggy throat and spoke. Her voice was hoarse and scratchy and held not a single element of compassion. "We have a weapon at our disposal," she said, tapping her knuckles on the table. "I do not see why we hesitate to use her."

Irina shook her head. "Hummingbird is not ready. She still has the emotions that would cause her hesitation. The risk is too great."

"Risk? What risk?" asked another council member, sitting opposite the window. "We haven't field tested her. We haven't evaluated her emotional status. Korbov, we are taking Ms. Kopp's word for it?"

Irina spun around. "I have spent six months conditioning this woman to be our ultimate weapon against the CIA. You want to talk about evaluation? Read my reports. I have detailed everything extensively within them. Jill Roberts was not a double agent, she was hardly an agent. She is a scientist. We need her to infiltrate the life of this CIA agent and end their operation before we have another incident like Rio."

"Yes, Rio," said Korbov. He bounced his pen on the desk so it made a light clicking sound. "That was an interesting report, Irina." He frowned. "We have a man highly placed within Wallstreet. I do not understand how the mission failed when _we_ have an organization so deeply placed within the location."

Irina did not answer. She did not want to tell them the truth: that she panicked, that she lost her head for a moment and made a decision based on her knowledge of the CIA agent.

She cleared her throat. "It was a decision of circumstance, sir."

Korbov shook his head. "I am making the decision now. Jill Roberts must be ready for active duty by the end of the week and must be integrated back into the life of Charles Bartowski by the end of next week." He stood up, looking more fierce and menacing than ever before. "We have wasted too much time with our knowledge of the CIA's operations in Burbank, California. We know enough to eliminate them quietly, piece by piece." He grinned a grin that contained no element of humor. "We have the Herring, afterall. What does the CIA have?"

* * *

"A defective intersect?" asked General Beckman. "That is what we're left with?" She stared at Casey through the crisp, high definition screen in the main control room of the CIA's Rio base. "Colonel Casey, I expected you to have a greater control over this situation."

"I understand, General. However, there were some unforeseen visitors. It is our belief that Irina Kopp was actually in the airplane," said Casey. "We will return to the Amulet the day after tomorrow. Chuck is nursing bruised ribs and the doctor here says it's best for him to not move for a good twelve hours."

General Beckman's eyes flamed with impatience. "I will be expecting your full and undisclosed report, Colonel Casey, upon your return." She ended the conference.

Casey turned to leave the room and found Sarah standing in the doorway. She looked slightly shocked. "You lied to General Beckman about Chuck's condition."

Casey shrugged. "That's what we agreed on."

Sarah stepped forward, shaking her head. "Yes, but I didn't expect you to actually go through with it."

"Did you reach Devon?" asked Casey.

"Yes," said Sarah. "He's on his way to the airport."

"And Chuck?"

"Hanging in there. He's under sedation." Her eyes narrowed hesitantly. "How did you know?"

"I am not an idiot," said Casey. "Spending twelve seconds with you two after the new intel from Beckman gave it away. No man in his right mind would let his ex sleep on him." Casey blinked. "Bartowski in particular." He grunted. "It's none of my business, and I don't want to know anything. I want to be able to deny anything and everything." He took a couple steps toward her. "But, Agent Walker, Chuck _is _the intersect. There are only two variations of the same outcome for this situation, and neither of them are very pretty."

Sarah shook her head. "That isn't going to happen."

Casey frowned. "You can't possibly know that."

"I know Chuck," said Sarah.

* * *

_The world was tinted in orange. The ground. The sky. The roads. The people. The colors buzzed like busy ants and caused the course of information, like each molecule was clearly visible and each atom comprised its own shade of the hot color. _

_Chuck stood at the center of the silent chaos. Everything seemed to come to him: every thought, every secret. The world felt anxiety, so he felt anxiety. The sky cried tears of disorder, rushing along through and in between all the information comprised of the matter the sky itself was a part of._

_Extending a hand, Chuck saw he was wearing a suit. Dark black, crisp, and neat, he was distinguishable amongst the crowd. He was the centerpoint for all its disarray. The flow of information to him worked against nature; for he was to go to it, it was not supposed to seek him. _

_But it did. Any direction he moved, even if it were only in thought, something new came to him and his body pulsed with revitalization. Every second, his mind expanded to encompass the wealth of data available to him. Cellphone conversations, emails, texts, whispered conversations in elevators, data being uploaded onto network servers, it was all there, at his fingertips. He merely thought about the large building in his left peripheral and he instantly knew the CFOs lifetime salary, where all eleven homes he owned were located and the value of the property he held altogether. He knew that, currently, twelve security guards roamed the base level with three concealed weapons apiece. He knew where the cameras were and where their weakest points of defense were._

_Chuck shook his head to break the connection, but a distraction did not stop a computer from downloading information; it might stall it temporarily or slow it down, but the termination process on the human intersect was impossible._

"_I don't want to know about weaknesses," said Chuck aloud. "I want to go home."_

_The information continued to stream in like a live broadcast. Every weapon or defense mechanism was made plain to him; every employee that could be bought was given a face and a name; every door that could be unlocked without triggering an alarm opened._

_Slowly, mechanically, Chuck moved. He turned toward the building and began to walk. He shed his suit coat and let it fall to the orange pavement. He unbuttoned his white shirt and threw it down. Underneath it all was a solid black t-shirt; his muscles clenched beneath the tight fabric and he ground his teeth together. He was ready for a fight._

_The doors to the main building opened automatically as he neared them. The men and women outside the building held their heads and cringed in pain as he passed. Some fell to the ground; others moved their hands to their stomachs, as though trying to hold themselves together. The guards inside the building handed him their guns, then slumped to the ground in defeat. The guns disappeared from Chuck's hands, but they manifested in a different form and he felt their power swell under his skin._

_Electronics fazed out and computer screens turned to fuzz. With every step, Chuck took a deep breath and inhaled the scent of information. Faces, locations, wire transfers, bank accounts, weapon stashes, illegal activity, it was all there and nothing he could do would stop it from coming. There was no will in his system to make an effort to stop the dastardly act. He was taking it all, wiring it all somewhere else, somewhere deep inside of his head._

_Power. That's what it was. Pure, unadulterated power. And the more potent the power, the more Chuck needed it and the faster he acquired it. By the time he'd walked twenty yards into the building, the entire five-story complex had been sucked dry of information. Immediately, he comprehended only a small fraction of it, but he saw it all as it passed through him and knew how to access what he needed it._

_But Chuck was still inside of that machine. Deep behind the layers and layers of building power, Chuck saw what was happening and felt confused. The man within the machine was a suppressed thought, however, and his effect was weaker than his resolve. He acted as an impassive observer, incapable of retaining information, but very aware that something bad was going on._

_Chuck left the building. His task was complete, but he still felt empty. The hunger raged inside of him more fiercely than before. He'd tasted the flow of energy, and he needed more._

_As he stepped out onto the orange sidewalk overlooking the orange sunset above the hazy orange treetops, writing began to appear before his eyes. He reached out to touch the print but his hand passed right through it. He stepped back to see the words more clearly:_

_Download complete. Would you like to transmit now?_

_Chuck frowned. What?_

* * *

"This is a level four alert. All authorized personnel please report to the green room immediately. This is a level four alert." Sirens lit up the underground hallways of the Rio CIA base, and the voice that echoed throughout the corridors was metallic and ear piercing.

Sarah and Casey rushed out of a room where they had been snacking and threw themselves into the hallway. Almost simultaneously, they were grabbed by the arms and led in the opposite direction of Chuck's room by several armed guards.

"There's an intruder?" asked Sarah, through the noise of the sirens and the blaring voice.

"Electronic," shouted one of the guards. "Someone hacked into our network." The guards pushed their small group into a room and closed the door behind them. Several levels of reinforcement bolted up the door until the siren was a faint whisper from somewhere unknown.

"What are you doing?" asked Sarah, rushing back to the door. "Chuck is still out there…you can't just leave him in the other room with a shard of glass in his arm. We have to bring him in here."

Two guards restrained her, dragging her back to where Casey stood, still dumbstruck. "Dr. Kent instructed us not to move the patient under any circumstances." Sarah looked up at the man; he was the same one that had been in the van when they'd been extracted from the Wallstreet operation.

"Major Pent, with all due respect, Chuck's surgeon is expected here in under three hours," said Sarah, breathlessly. "If this is just a network hack, why are we locked inside some bunker?"

Someone moved from the shadows and Sarah started. She watched as the shadow became solid and a woman, with beautiful long, brown hair and bright light brown eyes appeared before them. She looked at once so strikingly familiar to Sarah, but at the same time a complete stranger. Sarah felt her mouth gape a little, and quickly shut it.

"Colonel Casey, Agent Walker," said Agent Halloway, bowing her head slightly, "I am Agent Halloway. I am Agent Kipper's handler and director of South American operations for the CIA." She took a deep breath and looked closely at Sarah. "I can assure you, Agent Walker, Chuck's well-being is _my_ first priority, and the necessary arrangement will be made in order to assure everything goes as planned. But this is protocol, and for now, we can do nothing but wait for the techs to put our security nets back up. If this hack was intended to destabilize us before an attack, then we had to be sure all operational command was tended to."

Sarah stepped forward, aware that her actions were disrespectful and out of line, but fire blazed in her eyes and for once she wasn't thinking about everyone's well being. "But Chuck is _alone_ out there. He's alone and asleep and scared, and for all we know, dying. I do not see how that is going to help us. He is the most important asset to national and international security the CIA has…"

Agent Halloway held up a hand. Casey whispered behind her to fall back, but Sarah was too worked up to move. Halloway stepped forward to meet Sarah in the center of the room. She was not much shorter than Sarah, but had the demeanor of a very commanding woman and made Sarah feel small. Halloway looked into her eyes; Sarah blinked, confused, but the familiarity was even more pronounced. She almost gasped, but then saw the slightest shake of the head from Agent Halloway and somehow understood what wasn't supposed to be said.

"Chuck is not alone," said Agent Halloway, her voice stern. Her eyes were soft and compassionate, but from everyone's perspective except for Sarah and Casey, she sounded upset and disrespected. "We have been able to lock down that wing entirely and have a guard stationed outside his room.

"Agent Halloway," said Casey, diverting the topic. "What kind of network intrusion was it?"

"We aren't quite sure yet, Colonel Casey," said Halloway, looking up and away from Sarah. Sarah moved back by Casey, completely dumbfounded and quite utterly speechless.

"Do you know what they were after?" asked Casey.

Halloway shrugged. "We aren't quite sure of that either."

"Well, what did they take?" Casey pressed.

Halloway cast a long, lingering stare at Major Pent, who shut his eyes and shook his head; defeat.

Halloway looked back at Casey and Sarah. "They took everything."


	12. Truth and Madness

**Chuck vs. the Virus**

A/N: Sorry the gap between the last chapter and this one was so long! I've been enjoying the REAL stuff too much, I guess.

TWITTER-ERS: Don't forget to Tweet your support for Chuck between noon and 1PM on 5/3! If you don't know what I'm talking about, send out a Tweet question with the hash tag #Chuck to find out more.

* * *

**Chapter 11: Truth and madness  
**

When Ellie opened her eyes, she smiled as she felt her comfy bed beneath her and the covers brought close up to her chin. They must have fallen asleep on the couch. Again. Devon was so sweet when it came to remembering the small things; she hated spending the night on the couch.

She rolled over, only half expecting to see her husband next to her. He wasn't there. She sighed, but then noticed the small piece of paper on his pillow. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and grabbed the note.

"Dear Ellie," she whispered aloud, reading through the note quickly, "I got called in while you were asleep. I think the hospital needs to send a cardiothoracic specialist to Seattle, so I might not be in contact for a couple hours. I love you, babe. I will call as soon as I can. D." She made a pouty face and let her hand fall to her lap.

But then she was confused. She lifted the note up and read it quickly through once more. "Seattle?" she said aloud. Shrugging, she leaned over to her bedside table and grabbed her phone. _I'll just leave him a message_, she thought. _If he's not in surgery, maybe he can explain why the hospital needed to send a cardiothoracic surgeon and why I wasn't selected._

She hit the speed dial and brought the phone to her ear. After a moment, she heard a noise from the living room. Feeling her stomach drop, she shoved the covers off her lap and slid out of bed, following the noise to the kitchen. Devon's phone lay ringing on the counter, next to an empty box of power bars.

"Devon!" She slapped her phone shut with force and nearly threw it across the room. "What is wrong with the men in my life?" She shook her fist at the ceiling.

The pacing began. She called the hospital and spoke with her supervisor.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Bartowski…er, Dr. Woodcomb," said Dr. Edgerton, confused. "We haven't had any requests from other hospitals for cardiothoracic surgeons."

"And my husband isn't working now?" she asked, trying not to make it sound like she had no idea where her husband was. Her inquest into where Devon was felt as though it was becoming a trite prod into his life. He was allowed to have his own hobbies, interests, or whatever, but it wasn't like him to lie to her outright.

"I'm sorry," said Dr. Edgerton, "he hasn't clocked in today."

Ellie sighed. "Thanks Dr. Edgerton. Sorry to have bothered you." She hung up. "Well, this is just fabulous." She stomped to end of the kitchen, yanked open a drawer, and put on her favorite apron. If there was one thing she did well when she was angry, it was cooking. This day would be a complete wash if she didn't focus her energy somewhere. The way Devon, Chuck, and even her father had been acting lately made her almost certain that they were hiding something from her. How to coax it out of them was the question, and perhaps hours of baking would give her the answers.

* * *

Two hours and fifteen minutes later, the tech team of the Rio operation determined the threat was contained and the doors to the strange bunker opened. The military personnel filed out; their new mission was to safely escort Devon from the airport to the underground facility.

"I don't understand how a threat can be contained if _everything is gone_," said Agent Halloway to the large monitor in the bunker. Two men from elsewhere in the facility looked as though they were surrounded by a multitude of technological equipment. They fidgeted and glanced back and forth at one another. "Did you come to any conclusions?"

The smaller man cleared his throat and blinked rapidly. "Agent Halloway, we have only determined that the intrusion was not meant to destabilize our operational center," he said. Then a small graphical image appeared in the lower corner of the screen. "We traced the computer that hacked us and its first drop happened at the same time as the high-pitched explosion."

Sarah noticed the sudden spike in the graph, then a lull, and the next spike steadied for several beats, and then just disappeared. Odd.

"The computer must be offline now, because we can't find a trace of it anywhere," said the other tech. "But we managed to pick up trace signatures. Do any of these characters mean anything to you agents?" Five square boxes containing different characters appeared on the screen, overlaid on the men's faces. The first was a Y, the second a B, the third a C, the four a backward N, and the last a P.

Agent Halloway crossed her arms. "Well, they are certainly Russian." She huffed. "That does not offer me any peace of mind."

Sarah did not know Russian, but she remembered the symbol that had appeared on her phone before placing her call to Devon. She pulled it out and looked at it. The screen was normal. She turned it off, then back on again. The symbol appeared, and she thought about it in terms of a language.

"Eff," said Casey, looking over her shoulder. "That's the Cryllic character for ef in a number of languages, also phi in Greek." He looked back at the screen. "Those just look like gibberish. Can you arrange them in a number of different patterns?" The heavier tech twitched his nose, but did what he was asked in a matter of moments. Several dozen patterns appeared on the screen and right as Casey pointed to one of the choices, the computer selected the same one.

Casey stepped back. "Virus." He frowned. "The characters for ve, i, er, u, and es."

Sarah gasped. "They aren't shy about hiding what they've planted," she said, a bit perturbed. "Why would they encode the nature of the intrusion?"

The techs shook their head, closing the screen containing the different arrangements of characters. "That's the thing," said one of the techs. "It isn't a virus, at least, it's not acting like a virus. In fact, it's not acting at all. It came in, removed everything, and then just disappeared. It _left_ these symbols here, as though we were supposed to find them, but they make no substantial connection back to the original source." The thin man shook his head, dumbfounded. "It is the most unique thing I've ever seen."

Agent Halloway looked at Casey. "Casey, how is it you are familiar with Russian?"

"I spent a great deal of my early years in the service stationed in Russia," he said, avoiding Sarah's eyes. "I became very familiar with the language."

Agent Halloway seemed satisfied with his answer. She turned back to the screen. "Don't stop working on this. I want a better handle on _who_ sent this virus and _where_ our intel has disappeared to." She shut off the screen.

"Wait, so the information is gone?" asked Sarah, looking from Halloway to Casey, and back again. "Casey, this is the worst possible thing that could have happened while we were here," she said, through gritted teeth. "Was there any information about…" she tried to be evasive, but she saw his eyes flicker to Agent Halloway.

"I know that Chuck is the Intersect, Sarah," said Halloway. The agent relaxed her stance, and adopted a softer gaze. "My unique standing within the CIA makes me privy to a lot of highly classified information."

Sarah raised her eyebrows. "So…you really are…" her voice trailed off, the words left unformed in the back of her throat.

Halloway nodded. "Yes, but you and Colonel Casey are the only ones in this facility that know this information. I prefer to keep it that way." The tone of her voice, and the directness of her stare, made Sarah aware of the point of the comment. Chuck was not to know.

"I don't understand," Sarah said, looking at Casey, several pieces coming together. "Why?"

"That is not a conversation for right now," said Halloway. "Nor is it one, perhaps, for ever. I will tell you, however, that Chuck is in the safest place he could possibly be right now. I have operational command over Agent Brook, and as long as that man is not concerned with the safety of the Intersect, I am pulling rank and ordering a lockdown of all agents involved in the project."

Sarah glanced at the door. She itched to leave and check on Chuck. She wanted to see and witness for herself the kind of protection he was under. For some reason, she doubted Halloway's assurance that Chuck was in the safest place he could possibly be. That seemed impossible, not only for the Intersect, but for Chuck. Chuck was prone to exposure, wherever he went.

"I know what you are thinking, Agent Walker," said Halloway, stepping closer. "But it is unwise to return to Chuck in the present climate. He is unstable and if he wakes up again, there is a very small chance the surgery will go without a glitch." Halloway glanced at her watch. "Major Pent should have left already to pick up Dr. Woodcomb. You won't have to wait much longer."

Sarah's eyes grew big. She didn't like the tone in Halloway's voice. "With all due respect, Agent Halloway, you don't entirely understand the situation…"

Casey cleared his throat. "Walker…"

"No, it's okay, Colonel," said Halloway. "Can you explain it to me, then, Agent Walker?"

Sarah held Casey's gaze; she couldn't quite determine what he was trying to tell her in his look. She knew she couldn't say what she wanted to say, that she didn't trust anything about this military base and that she thought it would be safer if they were nowhere near the U.S. government. But, this woman had a reason for her trust in this facility; yet, for the very reason Halloway didn't want anyone to know of her relation to Chuck was what made Sarah so skeptical. Why the keeping of this secret if everything wasn't going to be alright?

"Agent Walker?" Halloway brought Sarah back to the present.

Sarah swallowed. "I just don't want him to wake up alone," she said.

There was a knock at the door, then it opened and Dr. Kent stepped inside. "Dr. Woodcomb is five minutes away," he said. "The operation room is sterilized and ready to go. The agents have been briefing the doctor on his way back here, so we hope to bring him in and get started right away. Do you have any objections?"

"No," said Halloway. "Continue with the surgery." Dr. Kent nodded. He looked at Sarah, then at Halloway. "Was there something else, doctor?" asked Halloway.

Dr. Kent swallowed and his eyes went back to Sarah. "Agent Bartowski has been…talking in his sleep," said Dr. Kent. "Steadily, actually, over the last three hours."

Sarah took several steps toward the doctor, her breath catching in her throat. "What has he been saying?"

"The first hour, maybe two…he was mumbling incessantly," said Dr. Kent. "1s and 0s, over and over, like he was reciting binary code. But for some time now he's been speaking Russian. I don't know Russian, I can't tell you what he's saying."

Halloway looked at Casey. "Doctor, do not do the surgery yet. Please give us a moment, we will follow you back to Agent Bartowski's location in a moment." Dr. Kent let himself out of the room. "Casey, do you think you could understand what Chuck is saying?"

"I can probably catch a lot of it," said Casey. "No guarantee."

"Wait a second," said Sarah. "Are you thinking this has something to do with those characters that we just saw?"

"There is not usually such a thing as coincidence in our line of work," said Halloway. "We've got to be taking every precaution."

Sarah stepped between Halloway and the door. "Ma'am, over the last four days, Chuck has downloaded the equivalent of a small library from the Intersect. His brain is overloaded with information about everything he has to know about this single operation." She took a deep breath. "Chuck's brain works at a higher volume than most people's to begin with, but what the CIA is requiring him to comprehend about the case from beginning to end is unlike any demand ever placed on an agent before. He doesn't learn all this stuff the way Casey or I did, he _downloads_ it and just _knows_ it. Do you have any idea how that messes with the human brain?"

Hallway was frowning, like she didn't appreciate the lecture. "What are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying that it isn't worth postponing Chuck's surgery because he is mumbling in Russian. He's mumbled in some strange language after each phase of his training. It seems to be how his brain…I don't know…detoxes from the strain of downloading information." Sarah gulped, as she knew how that would sound, but kept her ground.

Agent Halloway crossed her arms. "Are you telling me that Chuck _always_ talks in his sleep?"

Sarah took a deep breath and shut her eyes. "Not always, just…usually," she said.

Halloway was silent for several moments. Sarah opened her eyes to see Halloway still looking at her, curiously, seriously. "Alright," said Halloway. "That may well be the truth, Agent Walker, but why Russian? Doesn't that seem a little too coincidental?"

"On his first day of training, Chuck was given an obstacle course to do alone," said Sarah, stepping toward Halloway. "He had to cross a wide open desert in the middle of the night with only a helmet and a tranq gun. The area he had to cross contained five military snipers, Agent Casey was one of them."

Halloway glanced at Casey, interested. "I don't understand."

"No one knows what Chuck is downloading from the Intersect. Its engineers, including his father, aren't even privy to this intel. It comes from so many sources that don't want any other branch knowing their secrets; Chuck is the epicenter of these secrets, the bridge between all the different branches of government and the military." Sarah paused. "That night…Chuck started speaking in some strange Swazi Zulu hybrid. It turns out, after we did our research, the dart poison used in the tranq gun given to Chuck was manufactured in South Africa where that language is predominantly spoken. He didn't recall ever downloading the language, but he now can speak it fluently on command."

Halloway and Casey were speechless. Sarah had never seen such a look of bewilderment on Casey's face before, and it satisfied her to know that the man could still be taken by surprise. There were so many things they didn't know about their own government and it was ignorance to believe that the Intersect in Chuck's head was a passive presence. It was eating him, inside and out, turning him into someone else and controlling so much more than controlled it.

"You think it has something to do with recent events, then," said Halloway. "That his close encounter with the Russian Pound was the trigger to his latent speech."

"What about the binary code, Walker?" asked Casey. "Has he ever done that before?"

Sarah shook her head. "No, that's a new one. But I can assure you, no surgery is going to interfere with Chuck's retention of any of this. He remembers everything now."

There was a knock at the door and it opened again. "I'm very sorry, Agent Halloway," said Dr. Kent. "Dr. Woodcomb is here. Do you still want us to postpone the surgery?"

Halloway held Sarah's gaze, her pleading and morose expression must have been effective. "No, Dr. Kent. Please continue as scheduled. Let us know as soon as you are finished."

Dr. Kent slipped the latex gloves onto Devon's freshly scrubbed hands. Devon was staring through the empty window at his brother-in-law, whose side was completely impaled by a large shard of glass. The area of skin around the glass was turning strange colors and looked grossly infected. His head buzzed with operational tactics. He wondered how he was going to do this without a nurse.

"As you can see, Dr. Woodcomb, our resources here are limited," said Dr. Kent. "We are mostly concerned with containment at this point. We need to get Agent Bartowski stable, right now, and be able to transport him back to the United States."

Devon nodded. "Nothing heroic, I got it." He took a deep breath. "Are you going to be able to assist me?"

"Yes, of course," said Dr. Kent. "Mind you, I am not a surgeon."

Devon shook his head. "At this point, I will take anyone with a medical license."

"Is there anything you need before we begin? I've heard a lot about civilian surgeons and their general superstitions."

Devon looked at the much shorter man. "I don't need anything. Let's save Chuck."

* * *

Six hours and twelve pounds of flour later, Ellie laid sprawled on the kitchen floor. She was fairly certain she was laying in a quarter inch of flour dust, but she didn't care. If there was anything baking had confirmed for her, it was that she was being lied to. And she was done being lied to.

Ellie got up off the floor and hurried to her bedroom, taking off her flour dusted, egg-soaked, sugar coated clothes as she went. She threw them on the ground near the bathroom and pulled clean clothes on, checked her face in the mirror, dusting off the white powder best she could as quickly as she could, and was on her way. Keys in hand, she raced out the door to her car.

Wherever Chuck was right now, he would get a nice, friendly greeting from her when he got home. She was going to be there waiting for him, demanding an answer.

It began with Sarah. Ellie knew it all began with Sarah. Their first date, she recalled, he was out all night without a phone call to let anyone know he was alright. Typically, this wouldn't be such a big problem, but this was Chuck. That was not their relationship. After that night it was one thing after another, each one with equally strange behavior. Cancelled engagements, forgotten appointments, general negligence. Sarah helped him grow up and grow out of everything he was trying to so desperately leave behind, but she had also taken away her brother and turned him into someone she couldn't recognize anymore.

There were many times when Ellie's suspicions of their relationship should have warranted a more detailed explanation from Chuck, or Sarah, but she had been subdued with an, "It's complicated…" or "We're working through it…" Ellie pounded her hands on the steering wheel in frustration. Why was she satisfied with such lame non-explanations?

"Because you didn't want to know the truth," said Ellie aloud, to herself. She lifted her foot off the accelerator, surprised by her own voice. There was a simple explanation for her ignorance, probably; she was never one to pry or press or demand more out of a person than they were willing to give her. She knew this, and she knew that with Chuck she had to be okay with it. Chuck shared the important things with her. Didn't he?

Ellie frowned and stepped on the gas again. "Then again," she said aloud, "how do I know what is important to Chuck anymore?" He was a new person. So was Devon. They were sharing a secret, one that was causing them both to behave oddly. She couldn't tell whether it angered her more that they were both keeping something from her, or that they were intentionally keeping her in the dark. Couldn't she be trusted?

She parked and raced into Chuck's new apartment building. There were a few people in the lobby, and three people were just getting into the elevator. She hurried to get in with them.

One of the men pressed the ninth floor button, then looked at Ellie. "Where are you headed?"

"Ten," said Ellie, crossing her arms. The man nodded and hit ten for her. The other two men on the other side of the elevator lit up floors four and eleven.

"Are you new to the building? I don't remember seeing you around before," said the man who had asked her what floor she was going to.

Ellie unclenched her jaw and smiled. "My brother lives here," she said. "Just paying a friendly visit."

"Ah, I see," said the man. "I know a couple people from ten, what's his name?"

"Um, Chuck? Chuck Bartowski? He's…tall, curly black hair," she grinned. "Incredibly nerdy."

The man chuckled. "That does sound familiar. I don't think we've met, but I've seen him around."

The eighth floor dinged and one of the men got out.

The man didn't say anything until the ninth floor, and then casually gave Ellie a farewell greeting and left the lift. A moment later, Ellie got out on the tenth floor and hurried down the hall. She rummaged through her purse and found Chuck's key.

A small portion of her felt guilty, and maybe a little hasty, but she was under the impression that neither Devon nor Chuck would ever be straight with her if she didn't force them to be. The guilt didn't overpower the hurt, though, and for that reason she unlocked the door and let herself into Chuck's apartment.

The door shut behind her. She locked it, then set her purse on the table by the door. "Chuck?"

The apartment bore significant signs of several days non-use. She walked to the kitchen and looked around. No dishes in the sink, no food on the counters. She opened the fridge. It was sparse. She sighed and walked back into the living room. A pile of unopened mail was sitting on the counter. She pushed a couple aside and looked through them. They were dated several days back.

"Well, good to know Chuck doesn't keep up on _any_ correspondence," she said with a sigh.

Looking around, she wondered if it was now even worth waiting for Chuck. Devon had been gone for who knew how long, and Chuck's apartment bore little sign of use within the last couple days. Who knew how long she'd be waiting.

It was hard to be here and not look around, though. Devon and Chuck had raised her suspicions. Whatever they were involved with, any evidence of it would be here at Chuck's.

"No. If I violate Chuck's trust, he'll never open up with me…" she whispered, trying to convince herself.

On the other hand, if Chuck was into something illegal or drug-related, purposeful snooping might be the only way to drag him out of it.

Ellie walked to the phone and picked it up. She checked the log. Unknown. Devon. Unknown. Unknown. Unknown. Devon. Unknown. Burrows. Ellie. Devon. Devon. Devon. Devon.

"My gosh, they talk more than Chuck and I do!" Ellie was surprised. There were three more Unknown numbers and one more of Burrows before she reached the end of the list. "Burrows…Burrows…don't know that name."

She put down the phone and walked around the living room. Magazines. Video games. The guitar hero guitar. A couple empty beer bottles. She stopped at the trash and peered in. On top of the few things inside was a small crumpled piece of paper. She picked it up and unfolded it.

"Ah ha!" She grinned in triumph. "Heather Burrows. 410-555-2010. 3/25." Interesting, Ellie thought. That is Devon's handwriting. "Is Chuck seeing someone?" She pulled out the phone and dialed the number.

"Hello, you've reached Heather. I am either in a meeting or on the other line. Please leave a message and I will get back to you quickly." The line beeped and Ellie shut her phone. The woman had a familiar ring to her voice, but had a distinct Australian accent she could not recognize. Ellie stuck the piece of paper in her pocket and continued her noninvasive search around Chuck's apartment.

Nothing stuck out to her. There were no bongs, joints, random mirrors, stacks of money, or piles of socks anywhere. It looked, moreover, as though there had been a cleaning crew here recently. Nothing seemed to be touched or slept on. The dressers and surfaces were recently dusted and the mirrors recently cleaned. She never remembered Chuck being so clean before.

Ellie went into Chuck's bedroom. She looked around. What was she expecting to find in here? She didn't know. She felt like she'd know it when she saw it. There had to be a reason Chuck never came back for his things at the house, or why he didn't consider Ellie high on his priority list, or why Devon was so frequent on his call list. She knew they were friends, and family now, but it seemed very strange to her that Devon never mentioned all the times he'd spoken with Chuck. Ellie was always asking when or if Chuck had called.

It was the thoughts like these that angered Ellie into looking harder for that _thing_ she knew she could find here, or the _thing_ she was looking for to justify the odd behavior of the men in her life. A couple shirts under the bed, a book. Nothing important. She moved to the dresser. Socks. Boxers. Typical. She shoved the drawer shut, hard, upset with herself. The guilt was taking over again.

Something rattled, something metallic, when she shoved the drawer shut. She opened it again and shoved it closed again, with force. Something was sliding around inside the drawer. She pulled it open and moved the socks aside. There was nothing there. She moved her hand around the bottom of the drawer. Her fingers slid over something flat and she picked it up. It was an old photograph of Chuck and Sarah, from somewhere he didn't recognize. They were sitting on a couch and Chuck had his arm extended, taking a picture of him and Sarah, who had her lips pressed against his cheek. He had a goofy, lovestruck grin. Ellie sighed and felt her heart break a little for her little brother. She replaced the photo, but continued to search the drawer.

Unable to locate the source of the metallic clang, she yanked out the drawer and turned it over. Several things thudded inside as socks and underwear were spread across the floor. Her eyes went wide as she turned the drawer over and set it on the bed, shocked at how heavy it was. There was a secret compartment to the drawer.

She blinked. Then, running a finger around the edge of the bottom of the drawer, she looked for a way to get inside. She turned it around and saw the little latch on the back of the unit. She opened it and slid out another drawer within the drawer.

"Oh, Chuck…" Ellie felt her face go deep red, with fear and anger.

Two handguns were piled underneath passports and a large harness of some sort. A thick journal, bound in leather with a pen sticking out of the binder was at the very bottom. Ellie slowly touched everything inside, wondering what this meant and why it was all here. She picked up a passport. Charles Carmichael, U.S. Citizen. She picked up another. Charles Meindl, citizen of Germany.

At the very bottom, her fingers brushed over something embossed. She wrapped her hand around it and pulled it out. Gasping, she held it in front of her face for several moments before it registered in her head.

Central Intelligence Agency. The United States of America.

* * *

Agent Ben Campbell watched Agent Bartowski's sister, Ellie, through the surveillance cameras set up in the young agent's living room. She was looking for something. She muttered to herself a couple times, rather indistinguishable, but she seemed persistent.

His phone rang. "Yeah?"

"Are you watching this?" asked Agent Anderson.

"Yeah," said Campbell. "I don't think we should have let it get this far."

"We're not supposed to interfere unless Bartwoski's life is being threatened," said Anderson.

"Or his identity," said Campbell. "Oh, no. She's moving into the bedroom. No cameras in there."

"Who can we send in? She made both you and me in the elevator."

Campbell started going through the agents they had on hand within a two minute ETA. "This depends," said Campbell, running a hand through his hair. He was starting to sweat. "Is this containment or prevention, now?"

"Depends on if she finds his stash, right?" asked Anderson. "Look, man, you're the lead. I'll do whatever you say."

"We can't take that risk," said Campbell. "Call Anna. Get her up there. She'll have to pretend to be…I don't know…"

"A date?" asked Anderson.

"Sure, why not," said Campbell. "If Bartowski got someone like Walker, it would be believable he could get Anna."

"Yeah, did you hear that too?" asked Anderson.

"I was _there_, man! When Walker dumped him? I know it for fact," said Campbell, shaking his head. "That was some low blow. Guy wasn't the same rest of his time at training."

"I hear he is hard core, now," said Anderson. "Alright, I will send Anna in."

"Make it fast."

* * *

Ellie jumped a foot when the doorbell rang. She quickly stuffed everything back into the drawer, latched the secret compartment, shoved the socks in, and slid it back into place. The doorbell rang again.

_Wait_, she thought. _Chuck's not technically here. I don't have to answer the door._ She moved toward the door anyway, still debating whether or not she wanted to answer it.

Now the person knocked, and a female voice called from behind the door. "Chuck, if you are in there, please answer. I just want to talk." She knocked again. "Chuck?"

This peeked Ellie's curiosity. She walked to the door and opened it. A beautiful young woman with long dark hair stood outside. She wore a down vest over a stark white long sleeved shirt and long dark jeans. Ellie's eyes widened.

"Hello," said Ellie.

The woman looked embarrassed. "Oh my gosh, I am so sorry," she fanned herself. "I didn't realize Chuck had company. I am going to leave…"

"No, no," said Ellie. "Wait, I am not company. Well, I guess I technically am, but I'm Chuck's sister, Ellie."

The woman took a deep breath and sighed. "Oh, thank god," she said. She extended her hand. "I'm Anna Plech."

Ellie shook her hand. "Anna?" she asked, curious.

Anna beamed. "Has Chuck talked about me?"

Ellie looked guilty. "I'm sorry, he hasn't. But, if it makes you feel any better, I haven't seen Chuck in over a week."

Anna shrugged. "He's a busy guy," she said. "Well, is it alright if I just come in and talk to him a moment? I promise I won't stay long."

"Actually," Ellie said, looking around, "Chuck isn't here right now."

The last thing Ellie remembered was staring into the kitchen before everything went black.

* * *

Anna guided Ellie's limp body to the couch. She spoke into her watch. "The woman is out. Do you need me to look for anything?"

Campbell responded. "Hold your position, we're still debating containment options. Go into Bartowski's room and see if anything is out of place. Honestly, we don't know where he keeps his stash."

"This guy seems really clean," said Anna, walking through the apartment. "Why haven't I met him yet?"

"Why do you want to meet him?" asked Campbell.

"I've been stationed here for two weeks and all I've done is tranq his sister," said Anna, walking into the bedroom. "I'd like to meet the agent who requires five personnel guarding him at all times." Campbell laughed. "What?" asked Anna.

"You clearly don't know Bartowski if you think he needs people guarding him," said Campbell. "He was a legend at the academy. We are here solely for identity protection…and so that he knows the government always has several eyes on him."

"Is he a runner?" asked Anna. She was peering under the bed, feeling the floorboards, tapping on the walls, looking for something out of place.

Campbell didn't answer right away. "From what I hear, he's a sort of loose cannon," said Campbell. "He's impulsive, brash, and can do just about anything. He is a chameleon. He speaks countless languages and has a computer engineer's brain. Since he's allied with the CIA, they've felt it in their best interest to remind him who he works for."

Anna crawled under the bed and examined the wood underneath the mattress. It was really dark, but she saw light reflecting off something near the top corner. She moved toward it and grabbed it with the tips of her fingers. Several photographs were paperclipped together.

"Hmm," said Anna.

"Did you find something?" asked Campbell.

"He's got photographs of himself with a woman," said Anna. "Hidden."

When Campbell spoke next, Anna could hear a smirk in his voice. "Is she a blonde?"

"Yes," said Anna. "Do you know who she is?"

"Agent Walker," said Campbell. "Sarah Walker. She was stationed here for about two years with Colonel Casey."

"They seem…really happy," said Anna, tipping the photographs into the light. "Why did he hide them?"

"Probably because she tore out his heart," said Campbell.

Anna looked at the pictures a little differently. At first she thought Chuck was trying to hide these from the agency, but now she thought he was trying to hide them from himself. How sad. She put them back where she found them.

"I'm not finding a stash," said Anna. "How do we know for sure if Ellie found it?"

"I guess we don't, really, until we tap into the bugs at the Woodcomb residence," said Campbell. "Her husband recently became a certified CIA physician in order to personally care for Chuck. I guess the guy isn't trusted at medical facilities either."

"Who is this guy?" said Anna, rhetorically.

"A very well-kept secret," said Campbell. "And an enigma."

"Clearly," said Anna. "Well, how shall I proceed?"

Campbell sighed. "We're working on it. How long do we have until the tranq wears out?"

"Two hours, probably," said Anna.

"Well, come down here for now. I'm waiting to hear back from Agent Brook."

* * *

Devon was securing the last of the bandages on Chuck's side when the anesthesia began to wear off. Chuck's legs started moving and he smacked his lips, muttering incoherently.

"Hey bro, it's me, Devon," said Devon, softly. "I need you to stay still for another couple minutes. Can you do that, Chuck?"

Chuck's eyes flickered open and Devon saw a glassy glow to the whites of his eyes. "Dude, you okay?"

"Devon?" asked Chuck, focusing on the face above him.

"Yeah, Chuck, it's me," said Devon. "How do you feel?"

Chuck's eyes flickered around. He clearly didn't recognize where he was. Devon wondered how much of the last day or two Chuck would remember. Then Chuck's eyes widened and his mouth opened, short gasps of air escaped.

"Chuck? Chuck, what's wrong?" asked Devon, hunching low over him. He pulled down his stethoscope and listened to Chuck's heart. It was racing. He felt Chuck's forehead. He was burning up.

Very suddenly, Chuck started shaking violently. Devon stepped away, shocked. From somewhere within him, Chuck let out a scream that was so full of pain Devon knew immediately what the problem was. He hit his head and raced around Chuck's bed to the morphine monitor. He bumped it up, then set a hand on Chuck's shoulder.

"It's alright, man, it's gonna be alright," said Devon.

Another scream of pain came from Chuck before the muscles in his head relaxed and his eyes refocused on Devon's face right above his head.

"There we go," said Devon softly. "All better."

Chuck reached up and grabbed Devon by the shirt and pulled him down. "Devon…they did something to me…" said Chuck, through deep breaths. "They did something to me."

Devon stared wide-eyed into Chuck's face. "What do you mean, bro?"

"They re-programmed me," he said. "The Intersect isn't safe."

Devon gulped. He was more than familiar with patients just coming off of anesthesia, but Chuck spoke with such clarity and conviction, it scared him. "I'm sorry, Chuck, I don't know what you're talking about. Give it time, let your brain return to normal."

"That's just it!" Chuck whispered, spittle flying everywhere. "It can't return to normal! I've been infected!"

"No, Chuck," said Devon. "I got the infection. You are under heavy antibiotics. It'll all be out of your system soon."

Chuck shut his eyes, seemingly frustrated. "Devon: get Sarah and Casey. Now!"

Devon stumbled backwards and frantically searched for the door handle behind him. There were very few things that scared him in life, but Chuck's behavior was starting to become one of those things. He hurried down the hall and was soon met by a guard.

"Dr. Woodcomb?" asked the guard.

"I'm looking for Agent Walker and Colonel Casey," said Devon, looking around.

Two doors down the hall, Sarah quickly emerged, closely followed by Casey. "Devon?"

"We've got this, Major," said Casey, saluting the guard. The guard returned the salute and walked away from them down the hall.

Devon looked around, still frantic. "Look, guys, I have seen my fair share of crazy behavior when a patient is coming off anesthesia, but Chuck is scaring me." He led the way down the hall. "He is in way too much pain for how much morphine he's on, and then he also started ranting about stuff that I don't know about."

"Like what?" asked Casey.

"He said something like, 'They did something to me,' and that his brain has been infected, the inter-something isn't safe." Devon threw up his hands. "I would chalk it up to drug-induced paranoia, but I know I'm not dealing in normal territories right now, considering I'm performing surgery on a CIA agent in the middle of Rio de Janeiro."

"Devon, for your own safety, we need you to stay out here, okay?" said Sarah as they reached the door to Chuck's room. "If you want to change, all your stuff is in that room we just came out of down the hall. There is food in there as well." Devon nodded, still looking upset. Casey entered the room, but Sarah stayed back one moment. She wrapped her arms around Devon. "Thank you. Thank you, thank you."

"You know I'd do anything for Chuck," said Devon.

"So would I," said Sarah. She gave him one last smile, then followed Casey into Chuck's room.


	13. Loyalties

**Chuck vs. the Virus**

* * *

AN: Name this tune -- Na na na na na na, na na na na na na. Na na na na na na, na na na na na na. On another note, I know my science-knowledge is lacking way more in this chapter than ever before...but I didn't really have the same research tools to make it more accurate. Use your imagination. Apologies up front. Thanks again for reading, as always!

**

* * *

Chapter 12: Loyalties**

"I still do not believe she is ready," Irina said through gritted teeth. "She still has the emotions of a much younger, inexperienced woman."

"You know why that is, of course," asked Hansel. "Dr. Palomar believes her three month isolation cause a mental break of her Fulcrum conditioning. She has reverted to her pre-training days, according to some whack-o-nut psychiatry explanation."

"Preposterous," said Irina. "I don't believe it. She is well on her way to becoming our most useful asset. But if we cannot sever her loyalty to this CIA agent, it is impossible to utilize her usefulness. We need her back in his life."

Hansel scoffed and walked around the large table toward Irina. "You can't be serious. I thought you never wanted her to go back to that place. The danger it posed! The exposure!"

Irina waved a hand, dismissing Hansel's comment and shutting him up immediately. "I know what I said. I also know what the Board said, and neither is what I would want to have as my final course of action." She slammed her fist down on the table and stared right through Hansel. "I am sick and tired of the CIA sending operatives to the locations we need most. We needed that sale in Rio to go well and it did not! Not only did the transaction not take place, I didn't hit the control center with the Herring."

Hansel stopped shifting nervously and stood stock-still. "Wait...but the gun was fired. It hit something in Rio, the tap has been transmitting real time server errors for hours now."

"Server errors?" asked Irina, looking curious. "What do you mean?"

Hansel crossed the room in just a couple strides to the computer mounted on the far wall. "I've been noticing it since you returned from the meeting. Every twenty minutes, we get pinged with 'Access to mainframe denied. No C drive.' And it's always followed with this bizarre line of letters and numbers that usually represents an IP address."

"What does it say instead?" asked Irina, looking closely. Hansel pointed at the screen. As he said, it was gibberish, inconsequential: AO0NSDGJEFJ5AJRRTJ5A95768DHS. "Why would that happen?"

Hansel shook his head and breathed in deeply. "Any number of reasons, none of which have fantastic reasons or explain why the virus seems to be somewhere without actually being anywhere. It is almost as if it is trapped within a larger virus that is built to contain this sort of script. For example, some security systems permit intrusions, but only so as to contain, trace, and codify the problem. If you stick your hand into a jar that is just big enough for your hand, grab something at the bottom and try to pull your hand out while your fist is clutching the object, you will be unable to get it out. You first have to open your hand, but then you don't get what you are going after in the first place."

"So, I turn the container over and let it drop into my hand!" said Irina, frustrated.

"Yes, you would because you are a human being. A virus is a programmed piece of code that follows a specific structure. It doesn't have that kind of intuition, it has to be told to do something else."

"Well, why can't we access it and reprogram it?" asked Irina.

Hansel puffed out his cheeks and stared at the wall, thinking hard. "Theoretically, it is possible. But in this situation...there is no identification of the host it is currently using to survive. Without the knowledge of the host, we cannot know what kind of obstacle it is encountering." He looked back at the screen. Another ping appeared in the command console. "And that's the other thing. That random series of letters and numbers, it changes every time, like the host is dynamic."

"Is that good or bad?" asked Irina, still frustrated. She crossed her arms and absently began tapping her foot.

"It's an enigma," said Hansel, squinting at the screen. He studied it very closely for several moments, in complete silence.

"Well?" asked Irina.

Hansel shook his head. "The virus is alive. These jumbled bits of data are…almost…"

"Are almost what?" Irina pressed, growing impatient with Hansel's slow, uncertain speech.

The man let out a slow breath. "I don't know. If I didn't know better, I would say the virus is letting out some sort of S.O.S. This manner of spilling out characters seems to be all the host will allow it to do." He turned away from the computer and looked at Irina. "I will, of course, keep monitoring it, but…"

"Wait, what is that?" asked Irina, pointing at the screen.

Hansel turned around. A new message appeared in the console. DOWNLOAD COMPLETE. WOULD YOU LIKE TO TRANSMIT NOW? Hansel blinked, stupidly.

"Transmit?" asked Irina.

"It did it…" said Hansel, dumbfounded. "It successfully ran a cycle."

"Don't you want to tell it to transmit the data?" asked Irina, stepping closer.

"Yes, yes of course," said Hansel. He brought his fingers to the keyboard and began pressing keys. Nothing happened.

"What is it?"

Hansel didn't answer. He pressed a couple more keys, the one several times in a row. "I don't know, it won't let me type."

Then a large, rectangular box outlined in thick red appeared on the screen. MANUAL OVERRIDE. TRANSMISSION CANCELLED.

"No! No, no, no, no. No!" When Hansel began typing again, words appeared in the command console. He attempted to override the override, but each time received a 'cannot recognize host name' response. He pounded his fist on the table beside him.

Irina closed in the foot remaining between them. The heat from her fury rose off her skin in waves and brought with it the intimidation she was known for. "If I have to report back to my superiors that our first deployment of the Herring was a failure…you, dear man, do not want to see what I have in store for you."

"Irina…" said Hansel, gulping. His brow sweat with stress and fear. "I swear, this isn't my fault."

"Oh? Then whose fault is it?"

"There is something else going on here. The virus isn't behaving like it should…" Hansel's words were quick, but fragmented. His eyes darted around the room, trying to come up with a suitable explanation in the pressure of the moment.

"Well, you have twenty-four hours to figure it out," said Irina. "That is when I will be back here with Hummingbird." She sighed. "It would be a shame if we'd have to start her career out with a murder." She grinned, an evil, malicious grin. Spinning on her heels, she headed for the door. "Twenty-four hours."

* * *

Sarah shut the door behind her and hurried to Chuck's side. The bandages were securely in place around his arm and side, but he seemed to be sweating profusely. She looked around for a towel or blanket.

"He's burning up," said Casey, in a low mumble. "Here…" He handed Sarah a towel. "There's a sink right over there." He pointed behind her. She hurried over to it and drew cold water, looking over her shoulder at Chuck's groaning and writhing body. Wringing out excess moisture, she brought it back to Chuck and dabbed his forehead and cheeks gently.

"Chuck, can you hear us?" asked Sarah, bending low over him.

Chuck's eyes flickered open. "Guys…"

"Chuck, it's okay," said Casey. "What's wrong?"

"Guys, Devon is here…" he said, grinning sloppily. "I think I am really starting to hallucinate. I saw Awesome Captain."

Sarah and Casey exchanged a look. Were they moments too late? Was the overdose of morphine taking effect and loosening Chuck's grip on reality?

Chuck batted Sarah's hand aside and lifted his hands to set one on both their faces. "You guys are so pretty! Everyone is so pretty." He let his hands fall back to the bed. "The buildings are pretty, too. Orange…so orange. Like carrot juice." Chuck gulped and puffed his cheeks. "Oh gross, carrot juice is gross."

Casey stepped back. "He's going to hurl," he said, looking disgusted. "He's totally hacked off, Walker. Devon was overreacting."

"We can't know that for sure," said Sarah, putting the wet washcloth back on Chuck's face. Chuck's eyes rolled back into his head and he started breathing heavily again, mumbling under his breath.

Casey growled. "Enough of this." He stepped closer to the morphine monitor and lowered the dosage.

"Casey!" Sarah started toward him. "You can't be serious!"

Casey held up his hand. "Walker…if you want to protect Chuck, we've got to find out if what he told Devon holds any merit. There is Chuck's well-being, and then there is the well-being of the Intersect. You've seen the way he's been acting lately. If the Intersect goes bad, so does Chuck."

Sarah didn't approach him any closer. She still held a pose like she was in midstride when she changed her mind, but she couldn't seem to move. Her face was frozen in fear and uncertainty. "We could just end up making it all worse."

"Maybe," said Casey, shrugging. His consideration of her point was cursory, but his words carried the weight of informed sacrifice. "Probably not. It couldn't hurt Chuck to feel a little real pain for once. Take his mind of his emotions." Casey smirked. He lowered the dosage, and with every click on the monitor, Sarah felt the knot in her stomach tighten. Leaning over Chuck again, Casey slapped Chuck's cheek. "Hey, Chuck. Wake up."

Chuck's eyes opened. He was there behind them again. The skin around his eyes was turning red from strain. "Casey…" Casey looked at Sarah. She huddled over Chuck's face, too. "Sarah…" Without taking her eyes from his, she found his hand with hers and held it gently.

"Chuck…what did you tell Devon?" asked Sarah. "What happened to you?"

Chuck gulped. "Guys, I don't know what's going on. I had a dream…so vivid…but unnatural." He started moving on the bed, trying to get up. "I have to get out of here. It's not safe."

Firmly, Casey held Chuck down with one hand. "Whoa there," he said, smirking. "You are in no shape to go run off somewhere. You just had major surgery."

Chuck stared at Casey, eyes wide. "Surgery…" he picked his head up and looked down his body. A sheet covered most of his torso, but the arm of the hand Sarah held was clearly visible, bandages and all. "Oh my gosh, surgery…what happened to me?" He started blinking rapidly and breathing heavily. "Oh man, oh man. This hurts so bad! Oh gosh, what happened?"

Sarah set the cloth down and put her hand on Chuck's cheek instead. "Chuck, you have to calm down. If you calm down you'll be able to remember."

Chuck blinked and took short breaths, gulping and gasping in pain. "Guys…" his voice sounded frightened and helpless, like the Chuck Sarah had first met, the voice coming from the young, innocent guy she had the misfortune of being the first to aim a gun at. "Something's wrong with me."

"It's okay, Chuck, we're safe here. Just tell us what happened," said Sarah, gripping his hand.

The bed shuddered and Chuck began convulsing. His chest heaved upward and his arms snapped away from his sides, one flew into Sarah so firmly it threw her against the wall, where she hit her head and slid to the ground, holding it in pain. The other hit Casey in the gut. He stumbled backward, his eyes bulging.

The convulsion turned into a seizure unlike either Casey or Sarah had ever seen. He twitched and flailed, screamed, and then finally ripped out the IV in his hand. He leapt off the bed and looked around, breathing heavily, his mouth curved downward in an angry growl. His chest heaved up and down, his eyes were wide and red; Sarah thought he looked like a pissed off bear, he seemed so large in that moment, so intimidating.

Sarah looked up at him from the ground, shocked and very scared. She didn't dare get up; the look on his face was not Chuck, he was not Chuck right now.

But as Chuck stood still, looking around the room like a hunting cat, his eyes never focused on any one thing. Whether it was the sound of his own deep breaths, or the temporary trip into insanity was wearing off, he appeared to be calming himself down. His muscles relaxed and his growl turned into a thin line, devoid of emotion. The softness of his cheeks returned and he was finally able to focus his eyes on Casey. Casey stood in the same place he had stumbled back to after being slugged in the gut, one hand extended as though to stop Chuck advancing on him.

Chuck stared at him. "Casey…" he sounded confused. He turned in place and focused on other things in the room. His eyes found Sarah on the ground and they widened. He rushed to her. "Sarah? Sarah, are you alright?" He knelt down in front of her, but she put an arm out, as Casey had done. She was hesitant to have him approach. She was scared, and her head throbbed in pain. "Sar…" he didn't force himself toward her anymore. Before he could finish saying her name, he fell over backward, completely unconscious.

Sarah let out a loud gasp and relaxed her own muscles. Casey raced over to them and dragged Chuck away from her. "Are you alright, Walker?"

"Casey, what just happened?"

"I have no idea," he said.

"Grab his legs," said Casey, nodding toward the part of Chuck closest to Sarah. He looped his arms under Chuck's and dragged him back to the bed behind him. "Walker, let's go," he said, pausing when his back was against the bed. "What are you waiting for?"

Sarah was still sitting on the ground, staring at where Chuck's feet had just been. "Sorry..." she got up. "What do you want me to do?"

Casey rolled his eyes and growled. He was preparing to lift Chuck onto the bed. There wasn't much that could be more obvious in that instant than what Casey needed her to do. "Pick up his feet, help me get him on the bed."

She helped Casey position Chuck on the bed and straightened the covers that Chuck had whipped off just moments ago. "Do we need to strap him down?"

"I don't know," said Casey, watching Chuck warily. "We'll see."

Chuck stirred again and his eyes opened. His pupils rolled around until he was finally able to focus. "Sarah...I didn't...I..."

Sarah swallowed. She could not tell whether she was actually scared of Chuck, or scared for him. What his condition possibly meant was so far beyond her understanding that the concept alone, in its unknown status and unmarked territory, frightened her. But she took his hand in his.

"It's alright, Chuck," she whispered. "We'll figure this out, all of us."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I couldn't control it."

"Chuck, can you tell us what is wrong?" asked Casey.

Chuck very slightly moved his head back and forth. "I don't know guys," he said, hoarsely. "I had the strangest and most vivid...experience."

"Yes, you said that. You had a dream?" asked Sarah.

"No, it wasn't a dream," said Chuck. "I've dreamt before...this was an experience. I was not dreaming. It was as real...as real as something can get within my head." He breathed heavily. "Is it possible? Is it possible to be somewhere else without leaving?"

Casey smirked. "Is that supposed to be a joke?" He looked behind him at the morphine monitor and flicked it with his finger.

Chuck's eyes narrowed. "No, as a matter of fact it's not," he said. "I was somewhere else. I was in a place that was completely filtered in orange and the people...I could hear their thoughts. And everywhere I walked I could gather information just by thinking about it. Actually, without thinking about it. It all came to me without being summoned."

"Well, Chuck, you are the Intersect," said Sarah. "I don't put a whole lot of thought into psychology, but I know they have a term for this. What I mean is, you are under a lot of pressure, every day, not to just be yourself, but to be two people, and then to moderate and utilize that one person in order to lead a very secretive life…" She looked at Casey, who gave her an interested look and raised an eyebrow. "Your brain probably went into overdrive while you were in so much pain and shock, and then the drugs on top of it..."

"It was like a merry little cocktail adventure," said Casey, in agreement.

"But I know things..." said Chuck. "I know a lot of things. My head feels fuller than it ever has before. I know what downloading information feels like, you saw me crash at the Amulet. But this wasn't normal. I sucked the information out of something. I didn't download it from somewhere inside of me."

Sarah rolled her eyes, and Casey appeared to be suppressing a smirk. "Chuck, that's impossible. What you are talking about...your brain would have to literally be a computer."

Chuck gritted his teeth. "I know what it sounds like," he said. "Can you at least believe that it was real to me?"

Casey snorted. "Yes, I think we can. No one would make that up and then retell it." He leaned in toward Chuck. "Then again...you reek of blood, sweat, and..." he sniffed again, "I don't know what that other smell is."

"Very funny, Casey," said Chuck, blinking slowly. "I'm fresh out of surgery and you are already chastising me."

Casey frowned. "Oh, come on, Chuck. Lighten up. You are all fixed up, you're brother in law is here, and your girlfriend has been defending your honor for hours, now."

Sarah tilted her head and frowned at Casey, not amused. "Chuck, it was a dream. I'm going to go get Devon, and then we're going to set up a timetable to get back to the States." She rushed out into the hall, despite low and gruff protests by Casey, who would have preferred to go himself. She needed to get out of that room.

Sarah had barely moved ten steps down the hall before a guard rounded the corner and met her.

"Agent Walker." He held up a small phone. Sarah immediately recognized it as Chuck's personal cell. "Agent Bartowski's phone has been ringing for a solid hour."

She took the phone from hm. "Thank you. Have you seen Dr. Woodcomb?"

"He's in the break room," said the guard, rolling his eyes. "Pacing." As he walked away in a different direction than he'd come, Sarah thought she heard him mumble something akin to, "Civilians."

She walked in the direction of the break room. The phone in her hand, which she had almost forgotten about the moment it was put into her hand, began vibrating. She looked down, surprised. The number was from UNKNOWN. Briefly, it occurred to her that Chuck had told her he wasn't bringing his personal phone along, and that Agent Brook had forbidden any personal affects in the first place.

"Hi, this is Chuck's phone," said Sarah, in the most chipper voice she could muster. Then she slammed her hand over her mouth, terrified at the mistake she had just made. Anyone who might call Chuck's personal cell either knew that Sarah was no longer in his life, or was monitoring the usage of the phone. She cringed and stopped walking.

"I am trying to reach Charles Bartowski," said the voice on the other end. "I am afraid this is rather an urgent matter."

Sarah was able to let out a little breath, but a knot was still present in her stomach. "Um, Chuck isn't available right now, actually. Can I take a message?"

"This is a family matter, ma'am," said the voice, who sounded very tired and maybe a little upset. "I need to speak with someone directly related to Char—Chuck, or Ellie Woodcomb."

Immediately, Sarah switched gears. This was no longer about Chuck's breach of protocol, something was wrong. "Um…" She started flying down the hall. "Just one second."

"I don't have time to hold, I am sorry," said the voice. "If you know someone who can get into—"

"Sir, I promise--" Sarah cut herself off when she entered the break room. No Devon. "Crap," she said, under her breath.

"Excuse me?" asked the man.

"Sir…" said Sarah, thinking fast, "I'm, uh, I'm Chuck's wife, Sarah. Chuck has just woken up from surgery and can't really speak. Can I do anything?"

"Wife?" The sound on the other end was of shuffling pages. "We'll need to update his records here at Westside. Alright, Mrs. Bartowski…" Sarah's heart leapt and her breath caught in her throat again, this time for a very different reason, and her own reaction surprised her. "We are treating Ellie here for something we haven't yet identified, and before we can do anything we need to speak with blood relatives in order to do anything more than test blood samples."

"But Ellie is a doctor there," said Sarah, confused.

"Not today," said the man. "The moment Chuck is coherent, we need his permission to go ahead."

"What about Devon?" asked Sarah, whipping around the room and marching back out.

"Dr. Woodcomb? That would also be an option," said the man. "We haven't been able to get in touch with him either."

"He's here with us," said Sarah. "I just can't find him at the moment."

"Let me give you my number here," said the man. "I am Dr. Anthony Titus, Dr. Woodcomb will know who I am…" Sarah rushed back into the break room and to the counter where a pen was laying on the counter. She wrote the number on her hand and hung up.

Sarah sighed. Where could Devon have possibly gone?

She walked back out of the room and back toward the recovery room where Chuck was. She couldn't believe she'd just told Dr. Titus she was Chuck's wife. What if Dr. Titus told Ellie whom he had spoken to? Or was Ellie in such bad condition that she wouldn't be able to comprehend what the doctor was telling her?

Sarah didn't really know why she told the doctor that it in the first place. She could have just said that Devon was here and she was trying to find him. Or maybe spending the last couple days as Mrs. Baylor had put her into a different mindset.

If there was anything Chuck had taught her over the last two years, it was that family always came first, regardless of what form it came in. He'd let down Ellie and Morgan so many times, but he always came through when it was most important. To ignore the situation here, her gut instinct that the phone call was serious, would be a form of negligence that she was, however slowly and inversely, becoming a part of the Bartowki and Woodcomb family. Chuck had never been secretive or evasive about his feelings for her, it was always her that had to ignore his advances and put up barriers so as to maintain professionalism. But they were entering into something much bigger than either of them could ever have imagined and it was her turn to take a step toward the future and prove that he meant more to her than the CIA.

Surprisingly, it wasn't as hard or as terrifying as she'd imagined it might be.

* * *

Dr. Anthony Titus hung up the phone and got quickly out of his chair. They were one step closer to taking decisive action for Ellie. With the new protocols in place protecting patients, it seems that the administrators had neglected these circumstances; the ones where the family was close, but a host of other problems kept them from attending to the needs of another family member. H

He had learned that there was a lot they could do in the meantime. Not necessarily that he would attempt to circumvent the system, but that they were able to run a greater battery of tests, do the small preparations, in order to be ready for the family to give the ok. And getting the family's consent was usually never a problem, just every once in a while it seemed to take too long or cut it too short a patient needed to go into some sort of medication treatment quickly.

Dr. Titus cut through the nurses' station, got a little wave from two of the interning nurses, and headed straight for Dr. Edgerton's office. When Dr. Titus entered the office, Dr. Edgerton stood up.

"Anthony?" he said, hopeful.

"I got ahold of her brother's wife," said Anthony. "She says Char—Chuck just got out of some major surgery and that Devon is there with them."

Dr. Edgerton rounded the desk. "Did she say where they were?"

Dr. Titus shook his head. "No, sir. She said she would have Devon call the moment she found him." Dr. Edgerton was frowning in contemplation. "What is it?"

Dr. Edgerton shook his head and sighed. "We know Devon and Ellie pretty well, don't we?"

"Sure," said Dr. Titus, shrugging. "They've worked here for several years now…but I wouldn't be so bold as to say that anyone in this hospital truly knows anyone else."

Nodding, Dr. Edgerton sighed and walked back around to sit at his desk. "Still, I thought they would have mentioned Ellie's younger brother getting married." He sat. "You remember meeting Chuck, right? Tall, lanky kid, works with computers."

"Of course," said Dr. Titus. "He was a groomsman at their wedding."

"Right. Well, all I meant was that it was strange we didn't know Chuck was married," said Dr. Edgerton. "No big deal."

Dr. Titus turned to leave the room. "If it makes you feel any better, I was a little shocked too," he said. "Ellie is one of the most friendly and talkative people…she planned her wedding for months, half of it here. I would have thought she'd be doing the same thing for her brother."

Dr. Edgerton laughed and Dr. Titus grinned, both remembering how frantic and spastic Ellie got at various times throughout the wedding planning stages. With a wave, Dr. Titus left the room. He checked his pager, to make sure there were no calls yet on his personal line. Nothing. Ellie had only been brought in a couple hours ago, but it still worried him to wait too long to start treatments.

He hurried down the hall to his colleague's room and slipped in the door. Ellie was awake, but barely. She was ghostly and the redness of her eyes made Dr. Titus's eyes water.

"Anthony…" she mumbled, "what's going on?"

"Don't worry, Ellie," said Dr. Titus. "We've got everything under control. We think you have some sort of stomach infection, but per the new protocol we need to wait for either your husband or brother to give us a go-ahead."

Ellie scoffed and moaned, shutting her eyes. "Like either of them care anymore. I don't even know where they are."

"Wherever they are, they're together," said Dr. Titus. "I just hung up from your brother's wife. She said Devon just stepped out and he'll be calling me back shortly."

Ellie opened her eyes. "Wh—what did you…did you say _wife_?"

"Uh…um," said Dr. Titus, confused. "Yes, Sarah…right?" His pager began beeping. "Sorry, Ellie, this is probably your husband. I will be right back."

"Anthony, no, wait…" said Ellie.

He heard her plea for him to stay, but her health was more important to him than her need for information. Apparently, the whole wife thing was news to her too? Maybe the two kids eloped and needed Devon as a witness. Dr. Titus shook his head and refocused on getting to the phone. The innerworkings of that family were not high on his priority list.

He slid into his office and grabbed the phone off the cradle. "This is Dr. Titus."

"Hey Anthony, it's Devon," said Devon. He sounded morose. "What's wrong with Ellie?"

"Our initial analysis is that she has some sort of stomach infection. High fever, chills, vomiting, overly acidic stomach fluids. It's either a parasite or something has simply gone wrong."

"What can we do?" asked Devon.

"We can start steroid treatment," said Dr. Titus. Devon made a frustrated sound that forced Dr. Titus to take the phone away from his ear. "Is everything alright, Devon?"

"No," said Devon, curtly. "My wife is sick and I'm not there. My brother-in-law just had major surgery, and I am in a foreign country."

"What?" asked Dr. Titus. "Where are you?"

"Nevermind," said Devon. "Look, Anthony, I trust you. Do what you think needs to be done. I will be getting home as soon as possible." He hesitated. "And, can you leave out the fact that I am in another country to Ellie? I kind of didn't tell her where I was going…"

"Ok, Devon, as long as you're sure everything is ok," said Dr. Titus.

"Yeah, yeah. Chuck just got himself into a little trouble," Devon sighed. "I'll explain later."

* * *

Devon handed the cell phone back to Sarah. "They think Ellie has some sort of stomach infection," he said. The look on his face was one of complete defeat. "I cannot believe this. I'm gone for maybe a day and she comes down with an infection? How is this possible?"

Sarah exchanged a look with Casey. If they didn't work for the government, Sarah thought, this would have a higher chance of being a coincidence. But at the moment, they were currently under scrutiny for a failed mission and a highly valuable government asset recovering from life and death surgery.

"What?" asked Devon. "What aren't you guys telling me?"

"Look, Devon…" Sarah began. Casey cut her off.

"We are sorry that this happened to Ellie, Devon," said Casey, "but you did really important work by coming down here. As much as I hate to admit it, this world needs Chuck. And I know you need Ellie, and I'm not trying to place a value on either person, but there are people at home who can help Ellie. There is no one within a thousand miles who could have done what you just did for Chuck."

Sarah felt her mouth gaping, slightly, and shut it. That was more words than she'd ever expected from Casey. Devon looked a little more at ease, though his suspicions hadn't subsided. He gave Sarah a funny look, then an uncomfortable one to Casey. He looked as though he didn't know what to say, or if he should say something.

"Were you going to ask something else?" asked Sarah.

* * *

Devon blinked a couple times, then looked in through the broken window at Chuck, who was being helped to his feet by Dr. Kent. Dr. Kent was showing him how to move without hurting himself or tearing the bandages.

"Your lives have so many secrets," said Devon, finally, still looking in at Chuck. "I've known Chuck almost as long as I've known Ellie. I never expected any of this from him. How does he rationalize the lies he tells his friends? Ellie? How do you guys live like this?"

Sarah gulped. The truth was, she was beginning to despise this lifestyle. It separated her from feelings she wanted to feel and people she wanted to be around all the time. To leave this life, however, she'd most certainly have to give up this identity, and that was something she was not ready to part with.

Before Sarah could say anything, Casey answered. "It's part of the job," he said. "I was a Marine, trained for battle. The NSA and the spy life just became a part of it all at some point."

Devon looked at the much bulkier man. "But you don't get a real life, John," he said. "You worked at a Buy More for years when you are a decorated soldier. No one knows about that."

Casey shrugged. "Well, that's over now. Not everything about this job is glamorous." He smirked, hit Devon on the arm, and began walking away from the small group down the hall. "I will get our things, be ready to leave in thirty."

"This is a really fast turn around," said Sarah, looking in at Chuck. She was worried that Chuck was in too much pain for a lot of movement. They had to take a long plane ride home.

"Sarah," said Devon, stepping forward. "Why are you playing this so close? I thought you and Chuck were worried about anyone finding out about you two."

Sarah waved a hand across her face, dismissing the comment. "Casey figured it out…and there are…people here who have Chuck's safety as their number one priority." She sighed, and gave the smallest of satisfied smiles, which she suppressed considerably as it seemed to tingle up from her toes.

"What do you mean, have Chuck's safety as their top priority?" asked Devon. "Do some people not? Wait, why would the CIA care so much about Chuck anyway? They flew me down here to do an operation on someone they could replace really easily." Sarah gave him a hurt look, she didn't think Devon meant that the way it sounded, but it sure sounded like he didn't think Chuck deserved this kind of treatment. He cleared his throat. "What I mean, is…I know Chuck is smart and has a degree from Stanford…but what does he really do that would warrant the government flying me down here?"

Sarah looked in at Chuck quickly, then back at Devon. She stepped closer. "Look, Devon. The less you know, the better. But, for now, because you have done so much for him, and for me, I'll tell you this: Chuck is irreplaceable. To the world, to the CIA. But the government didn't fly you down here. We, Casey and I, and another agent here, chose to bring you in on this. The government doesn't know Chuck had this surgery."

Devon's eyes were wide. "What? Why not?"

Sarah sighed. She'd gone this far, and that was already too much. Would telling him any more put him in danger, or would it help their cause?

"Sarah, I just want to understand. I'm not going to tell anyone," said Devon.

Sarah bit her lip. "It's not that," she said. "We are not sure where loyalties are right now, Devon. Something is wrong within the organization and we just can't tell why the agency seems to think Chuck is unimportant when, on the contrary, Chuck is vital to current operations."

When Devon only stared at her, unable to respond, she looked in at Chuck. Chuck was still high from the medication and although he stood upright, he swayed dangerously on the spot. When he saw Sarah looking at him he lifted his good arm and waved. Sarah lifted a hand in response. She knew he could tell that the look on her face was not promising, and his smile fell.

"I get it," said Devon, looking at Chuck as well. "And I don't get it, at the same time. I guess I'm not really expected to be able to follow along all the time though."

"No," said Sarah, still looking at Chuck. "And that's a good thing. You don't want to be an agent right now." You don't want to be an agent _ever_, she added to herself. If she could spare one person having to go through what she and Casey and Chuck went through on a mission-by-mission basis, she would know she'd done someone some good.

"Nice ring," said Devon, after a moment. "Is that real?"

Sarah looked down at her hand. Her arms were crossed and the large diamond was sparkling for anyone to see. Once again, she had completely forgotten it was there.

She lifted her hand to examine it. "Well, the diamonds are real, if that's what you mean," she said. Then she looked up at Devon. "But that's not what you meant, was it?" Devon gave her a half smile and shook his head. "No. It is not real." She took a deep breath. "However, we might have to pretend it is if Ellie somehow hears about it."

"What do you mean?" asked Devon, snorting.

"Well, in order for get Dr. Titus to talk, I had to tell him I am Chuck's wife," she said. "I don't really know why I did it…but I was looking for you and panicking at the same time. It just sort of…slipped out." Devon grinned and pressed his lips together. Sarah looked up at him. "What are you smirking at?"

Devon shrugged. "Oh, come on, Sarah." He turned to face her, crossing his arms. "You two might have been cover-dating, or however you say it, for two years…but I saw the way you looked at him. You want him to ask you to marry him, don't you?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Of course not," she said. "That would be impossible in our current situation. Not to mention reckless, foolish, and selfish." She tried to push it out of her mind, but the image of herself in a white dress, walking down the aisle toward Chuck was vivid. She blinked. "Not to mention…way too soon."

Devon leaned down. "Love is not selfish, Sarah. And the fact alone that you said that, said that you think marriage at this stage would be impossible and selfish, reveals more about what you want than anything."

Sarah looked away. "I didn't realize you had a doctorate in psychology."

"I have a doctorate in Ellie," he said with a laugh. "And Ellie has a doctorate in people. She is surprised, you know, that Chuck didn't ask you to marry him a long time ago. Frankly, I was too, before I…you know, found out."

Sarah laughed. "I guess we are good actors."

Devon shook his head. "I can't think of two people who needed to act less."

"If you're trying to get me to say that I love him, you don't have to prompt me. I do. I love Chuck, very, very much. But for him to ask me to marry him…he would have to choose loyalties: me or the job. And if it were anyone else in any other circumstance, it probably wouldn't be an issue. But I can't make him turn away from this."

Devon sighed. "I'm trying to follow you, Sarah, but I just don't understand through the vagueness." He paused. "I do know that there are few things in life worth dropping everything for." He shrugged. "It doesn't matter who we are or what we do, if we find that _thing_, it seems criminal not to just jump in with both feet.

koechlinism


	14. Strange Business

**Chuck vs. the Virus**

**Chapter 13: Strange Business**

The trip to the airport was half unendurable pain, half giddy euphoria for Chuck. The sense of pleasure resulting from all things that wouldn't typically elicit that sort of response made him feel nauseous. He sat on the two-seat bench with Sarah, her arm and a large blanket wrapped around him. Every five minutes or so they had to take off the blanket or put it back on, because the chills would set on so violently Chuck's skin would turn purple.

Sarah looked over her shoulder at Devon and Casey, who sat on the ground against either side of the large van. Casey was polishing his gun with a random cloth he probably kept on his person 24/7, but Devon was staring at Chuck's back. He caught Sarah's eyes, but his stare was blank.

"What's going on back there?" asked Chuck, in a low whisper. He smiled at Sarah, letting her know he was just trying to make conversation.

Sarah shrugged. "Exactly what you'd expect," she said. "We are surrounded by very predictable people."

Chuck chuckled. "I suppose we are." He grinned. "Am I predictable?"

Sarah smiled and leaned her forehead against his head. "Sometimes," she whispered. "Sometimes not."

He lifted a hand and put it on her knee. "Have I told you that I love you, yet?"

Sarah rested her chin on his shoulder, so that her face was close to his. She snaked a hand down his arm and intertwined her fingers in his. "I love you too," she whispered. She watched the smile spread across Chuck's face. "I love your smile, too," she added, reaching up to poke his cheek.

From behind them, Chuck heard Casey grunt and snort in distaste. "I think Casey would have preferred not knowing about us altogether," he whispered.

Sarah nodded. "Probably, but right now...he's our only sure ally. If he doesn't know everything about us, we might lose him too." She caught her breath. "And we both know how that almost turned out last time."

"He was never really against us," said Chuck. "Through it all, he had his head in the right place." He shuddered. "But yes, I am well aware of what he is capable of."

Several moments of silence passed between them. Sarah rubbed Chuck's back until he started sweating again and they removed the blanket. He tried to stretch out his legs, but the movement caused him to grimace in such pain Sarah and Devon made him stop.

"Chuck, when we get to the airport I can stretch your legs for you, ok?" said Devon. "But right now, before we get back to the States, we cannot have any accidents. I don't have the facilities or resources to take care of you on a plane."

After another five minutes of pain, Chuck slipped into unconsciousness. Devon pulled out a syringe from his sack. "We've only got so many of these," he said. "If Chuck keeps needing injections at this rate, we'll run out before we get back to Burbank."

"It won't be this bad on the plane, will it?" asked Sarah, helping Devon lean Chuck against her. "We won't be jerking around like this van is."

Devon shrugged. "Let's hope for no turbulence."

Sarah was leaning against the side of the van now, still on the bench, with Chuck leaning against her. Devon's morose behavior scared her. She couldn't tell whether he was worried about Ellie or Chuck's condition. It was logical to assume that he felt the weight of both his loved ones, but his detached and solemn demeanor had her concerned. If he was worried about Ellie, that meant he was distracted from helping Chuck, and though Sarah didn't want to be selfish, she knew it would be impossible to get Chuck back safely without Devon at 100 percent. On the plane they would find him a suitable distraction. And her, too, if she was lucky.

Chuck woke up just before they arrived at the airport. It was much farther away than it had felt before; the trip from the airport to the Warehouse had seemed to go by quicker. The driver, Major Pent, pulled the van around to the rear maintenance entrance and shut off the engine. If any Pound or Wallstreet member were to see them going into the airport they were all as good as dead. So they were going to quietly sneak in through the maintenance entrance and make their way through to security right before the main terminals.

Apparently this wasn't going to be a problem, with heightened security and all, but Chuck was in no state to question Major Pent.

It took all three men to get Chuck into a wheel chair without causing him to scream out in pain. Sarah kept a hand gently on Chuck's shoulder as she swung a bad around her own. Devon grabbed the other two bags and Casey began pushing the wheelchair onto the loading dock. Chuck could feel Sarah watching him as they moved forward, and he tried not to look at her, worried that her expression would be the same as every time he'd looked at her over the past twenty-four hours: worried, uncertain, cautious.

As they passed the guardhouse, Chuck noticed the man behind the desk nod his head ever so lightly. The doors opened automatically, and Casey led with the wheelchair in ahead of everyone. Devon seemed to drag behind them, which worried Chuck immensely. Was Devon worried that the surgery wasn't good enough? Chuck feared for his own well-being, but knew there was nothing he could do about it right now. He saw Sarah, out of the corner of his eye, turn and look back at Devon.

As they walked through the basement level of the airport, Chuck finally found that his chills were subsiding. He felt different, almost as if this movement were helping. But this renewed inner strength brought with it some troubling mental side effects. He began to think and reflect on the events of the last several days, most of which he couldn't remember. He remembered having conversations with people, he remembered the doctor and the operating room, he even remembered the explosion, but he couldn't remember specifics. He also couldn't remember whether anyone had fully explained to him the extent of his injuries or whether he'd asked for them to explain the events outside his in-patient room during their stay at the CIA facility.

"Well, this has got to be a first," said Chuck, loud enough for them all to hear.

"What do you mean?" asked Sarah. She pushed open a door and held it open so Casey could push the wheelchair through to the main building. Now all that was left was to get through security.

"We failed," said Chuck, bluntly. "We actually did worse than fail. As a team we are worse off than when we started."

"Don't say that, Chuck," said Sarah, softly. She didn't entirely sound like she meant it, more that she wanted to believe it herself. "A huge deal didn't go down. That's something."

"I hate to say it, but, Bartowski's right, Walker," said Casey. "As a team, we've never outright failed before." He drew the wheelchair to a stop in line, behind several other passengers. The line appeared to be moving slowly as new security, worldwide, required nearly the complete removal of one's clothing.

"Casey," said Sarah, sharply, "how can you say that? This isn't even close to being over." She stepped in front of the wheelchair and dramatically looked between the two men. Her eyes were wide and she commanded their attention remarkably. "We've been here before. We've seen this stage of the process where it all looks hopeless, but we always catch a break. This is far from being over." She breathed in deeply, lowered her voice, and looked around cautiously. "They always make a mistake and we are always there to catch them at it. But if you both keep thinking the way you do, we will go back to Burbank with negative news to report and the idea that Chuck's injury has crippled our entire operation."

Chuck blinked, and after several moments, looked up at Casey. "That was pretty convincing."

Casey rolled his eyes and grunted, waving for Sarah to get out of his way. "Love _is_ blind," he said, grumbling, and just loud enough for Chuck to hear. "If you are ever going to make it to 30, you are going to have to think more objectively."

Chuck clenched his teeth together, slightly offended. "And if you are ever going to make it to 50, you are going to have to be nicer to people."

One of the security guards approached them. He was tall with deep olive skin and big, sparkling brown eyes. He was older, as security guards go, and slightly gaunt.

"Are you able to stand, sir?" he asked, in Portuguese.

Chuck briefly thought of his flaming white hair and wondered why the man would choose to speak to him in Portuguese. Before he could open his mouth to respond, Casey answered for him. "He just had major surgery," said Casey, also in Portuguese. "We've been told he is supposed to do as little movement on his own as is possible."

The guard nodded, neither sympathetic nor annoyed, just in acknowledgement. He unstrung the wand from around his belt and, as though he really cared, carefully ran the wand around Chuck's body, within a half inch of his clothing. Then he bent down and carefully removed the moccasins from Chuck's feet, examined them, and put them back on, just as gently.

"I will wheel him around," said the man, to Casey, still in Portuguese. To them all he spoke in scattered English, "Please place carry ons, belts, jackets, and shoes on carriages." He pointed to the large grey bins sitting by the conveyor belt. "Then you can walk through metal detectors."

Casey moved with Sarah and Devon to the carriages and they began taking off their things. The guard pushed Chuck slowly toward the side where they allowed wheelchair access. "So, what happened to you?" he asked, again in fragmented English.

Chuck did him the courtesy of responding in Portuguese. "I'm not really sure, actually," he said. "I haven't been retaining a whole lot of information over the last couple days." He looked over at Sarah, who was looking at him as she waited for Devon to walk through the metal detector. He set off the alarm and was instructed to go back and take off his shirt. Then, absently, Chuck added, "She's either too worried to tell me, or sick of explaining it."

The guard let out a, "Hmm," and looked at Sarah, too. "Is she your wife?"

Chuck hesitated. "Yes, yes she is."

"Well, then," said the guard, speaking comfortably in his native language now. "I'm not surprised. Wives'll think they're protecting us by not telling us something. But truth is, I believe we heal better once we know exactly what is wrong." He came to a stop at the outside of the security area and stood next to Chuck, watching his friends re-dress.

Chuck looked up at him. "Thank you," he said, sincerely. "That was very kind."

"Take care of yourself," said the guard, waving as Casey once again took control of the wheelchair. They walked quickly away from the area and were soon immersed in the busy commons of the airport.

"What did he say to you?" asked Casey and Sarah at the same time.

"Yeesh, paranoid much?" asked Chuck.

"Yes," they both said, again at the same time.

"We were just having a friendly chat," said Chuck. His mind reeled, though, with his own bout of paranoia. His suspicions were reconfirmed in the comments the guard had made. Another seed of doubt had been planted, not altogether causing him to distrust his partners, but at least enough for him to question again why they weren't being as forthright as usual. Were they intentionally keeping something from him? Were they just leaving out the details until he was well enough to deal with them properly?

When they had come to a stop by a grouping of open tables, Chuck snapped out of his reverie. Casey pushed him up to a table and Sarah sat down next to him, then leaned over to grab his hand. "Chuck, are you alright?"

"Yes," said Chuck, "I feel very well, actually."

"That's great," Sarah said, relief returning to her face. "Do you think you could eat something?"

On cue, Chuck's stomach growled loudly. He grinned sheepishly. "We'll take that as a yes," said Chuck, patting his belly with his good hand."

Sarah smiled. Chuck saw her look change from what it had been lately to that old, familiar look she used to give him, before the surgery, before Wallstreet. She stood up. "I will go get us all some food. Are you hungry for anything in particular?"

Chuck frowned. "I should go with you to translate," he said. "These places might not have English speaking employees."

Devon looked up from his seat. "You speak Portuguese?" he asked, shocked.

Chuck looked around at his brother-in-law, gulping. "Um…"

"Of course he doesn't," said Casey. "Chuck, you two can have alone time later. Walker and I will get the food." He gave Chuck a hard look.

"Okay, thanks…Casey," said Chuck, wondering if revealing that he spoke Portuguese, courtesy of the Intersect, was not a good idea to Casey. Devon still didn't know about the Intersect. "Um, Subway, if they have it. Or sandwiches…whatever, doesn't really matter."

Sarah smiled again and bent down, lightly kissing his lips. "Be right back." Chuck returned the smile and watched them leave. Maybe his paranoia was getting the best of him.

The moment they were out of earshot, Devon slid closer to Chuck. "Dude, what is going on?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" asked Chuck.

"What do I—? Chuck, first, they put a sack over my head and truck me to the middle of nowhere. Then they lead me into this bunker that looks like a tornado ripped through it. Then they show me you, which, by the way, was not the greatest thing I've ever seen, and I've seen some pretty not-awesome things. Dude," he lowered his voice and leaned in closer, "there was a half a window sticking out of your side. What the heck was up with that?"

Chuck could feel that he was frowning. Pieces of what Devon said sounded familiar, but he was struggling to come up with any response. "Look, Devon, I don't know much about what is going on right now," said Chuck. "My brain is…on the fritz."

"Are you feeling okay?" asked Devon, changing gears. He extended an arm to Chuck's forehead. "You look better, for sure, but not your typical Chuck-self." He used both his arms to pull Chuck's wheelchair out from under the table, slid his chair so that their knees were almost touching, and reached down to Chuck's feet and carefully lifted his right foot.

"What are you doing?" asked Chuck, peering over his knees.

"I'm going to help you stretch your legs," said Devon. "Don't worry, we do this for therapy patients all the time. People who are in too much pain to work the muscles themselves, we do it for them. Sometimes it feels better than if you did it on your own. Just relax, okay? Don't move your muscles, just let me do it."

After a moment, Chuck let his mind get back into gear. The massage Devon was performing on his legs seemed to stimulate his cognitive thinking. "What exactly did you have to do for me? In surgery, I mean," asked Chuck. "I don't think Sarah wants to tell me."

Devon shook his head and shrugged. "I didn't tell any of them. It was an eight hour surgery of me going as slow as possible…since I didn't have a nursing staff."

"I mean, seriously," said Chuck, catching Devon's eye. "What did you have to do? Explain it to me like…like if you were bragging about it to another doctor."

"Um," said Devon, raising an eyebrow, "okay…" So he did. He began at the beginning and walked Chuck through the process of his own surgery. At first, Devon seemed skeptical of Chuck's reason for wanting to know such specific and probably foreign concepts. But Chuck remained attentive, letting the Intersect work silently in conjunction with Devon's narrative, and Devon became more comfortable speaking medical jargon.

After a few minutes of speaking, Devon switched Chuck's legs and began working on his left.

"After I was able to remove the shard for your side, Dr. Kent was able to staunch the bleeding so that I could see what your internal injuries were. Let me tell you, man, that thing was practically touching your lung. I had to remove your spleen and a portion of your liver, which is probably why you are in so much pain." Devon sighed, thoughtfully. "You are going to need some killer antibiotics, bro. Luckily, I am your official doctor, and per the United States government, _Whatever Charles Bartowski requires, Charles Bartowski gets_. You really are a big shot, aren't you?"

Chuck grinned, but didn't respond to that question. "What about after you decided to remove my spleen and liver? What did you have to do?" he asked.

Devon hesitated. "Chuck, this is therapeutic for me and all, but why do you want to know all this?"

Chuck sat back in his chair. "I need the information in order to function," he said, after several moments of silence. "I guess…in order for me to heal, I just need to know what's wrong."

Devon laughed, some color returning to his face. He carefully replaced Chuck's foot on the footrest of the wheelchair. "I know they say knowledge is power, but being able to heal yourself through…meditation or concentration is mostly urban legend."

Chuck grinned, playing along. "I know, it's just…I have a lot to think about lately. The more I understand about the things I don't understand, the better I see to function." The truth was, Chuck was only just beginning to understand what the Intersect was capable of; all he knew for sure at this point was that the Intersect wanted information. He, as the utilizer of the Intersect, found tasks easier when the Intersect wasn't confused.

"Does this have to do with Sarah telling Anthony about you two being married?" asked Devon, raising an eyebrow. "I think Ellie's fever is bad enough that she won't remember, if Anthony happens to tell her."

"Sarah told—? Anthony—? From the…? Ellie has a fever?" Chuck listed off the questions that resulted from Devon's comment, finally landing on the most important one.

Devon blinked. "Yeah, remember when Sarah came in yesterday saying I had a phone call? That was Dr. Titus." He shook his head. "I thought for sure Sarah would tell you about that."

"Is Ellie okay?" asked Chuck, shifting in his chair. He suddenly felt like he was sitting on something hot and prickly. He didn't know why that comment bothered him so much. Ellie was allowed to get sick. Just that she usually wasn't sick.

"I think so," said Devon, drifting back into that mode Chuck had noticed in him before. He now understood why. "Sounds like a stomach infection, the way Anthony described it."

"Devon, what exactly is wrong with her?" asked Chuck, trying not to be too needy. But his level of seriousness spiked Devon's interest again.

"Chuck, what is it?"

Chuck clenched his jaw. No one was safe. The whole thing felt wrong.

"I think we need to get you an MRI when we get home," said Devon "I'm worried about you. You look more pale now than you did yesterday."

"It's probably just the hair in this fluorescent lighting," said Casey, walking up behind them with Sarah. They were both carrying a bag of food. Casey handed a sandwich to Devon from his bag and sat down across the table. "Hope you like Brazilian meat," said Casey, eyeing his own sandwich suspiciously.

Sarah pushed Chuck into the table again and sat down in the seat next to him. She pulled three sandwiches out of the bag, a small smile etched on her face, and sat two in front of him.

Chuck's eyes rolled around in his head. The smell was delectable. "Is that…" Chuck sniffed the air. "Pastrami? And…" he sniffed again. "Melted swiss cheese?"

Sarah's smile broadened. "I'm glad to see you're feeling better."

Chuck lifted his arms to take a sandwich. He unwrapped it, then held it just far enough away from his face so that he could admire it. "I think the smell of these just cured me completely." He sighed, sarcastically, inhaled deeply, then took a large bite. "Oh my gosh, Sarah," he said, closing his eyes. "This is the best thing I've tasted in…days. Oh my gosh." He took another bite before he had completed chewing.

When he finally opened his eyes, he was surprised to see all three of his companions staring at him, dumbfounded. He looked at each of them in turn and then said, "What? I haven't eaten solid food in days. Give me a break."

"Chuck," said Devon. "Aren't you in pain?"

Chuck shrugged. "My side aches, sure, but I feel a lot better." He followed Devon's gaze, then, to his own arm, realizing at that moment that he didn't feel any pain in his arm, which he was using to support the sandwich; not a half hour ago he couldn't endure a slight jolt in the wheelchair without feeling a sharp pain rumble through his veins.

Devon stood up and started rummaging through his pack. He took out a fresh spool of bandages.

"Oh, come on," said Chuck, looking around the room. "You can't do that here, you'll gross everyone out."

"Chuck, you probably ripped the stitching. If I don't do it now, I won't be able to do it," said Devon, in a low whisper. "Just don't draw attention to yourself."

Casey grunted. "He's wearing a bright red shirt and has hair as white as paint," he said. "Attention drawn. If you haven't noticed, this country is populated with dark skinned people."

Before Chuck could protest again, Devon began unwrapping the bandage on his arm. "Can someone at least feed me while he's doing this?"

Sarah chuckled. "It will only take a minute, Chuck. Be patient." She stood up and offered her hand to help Devon.

"I'm starving," said Chuck, his stomach rumbling again. He looked back, longingly, at his sandwich.

"What is it?" asked Casey. Chuck looked up. Casey wasn't talking to him, he was looking at Devon and Sarah. Chuck turned his head to look up at them. They were staring at his arm.

Chuck looked at his arm. With the exception of blood smears around certain portions of his bicep, he couldn't see anything wrong or out of place. "What?" asked Chuck, lifting his arm to examine it from different angles. "What is it?" He lifted it up to look at the underside.

Devon held Chuck's arm steady, then grabbed hold of the end of one of his stitches and began to pull. This was very uncomfortable for Chuck and he let out a bunch of involuntary noises. "Goo," said Chuck, grimacing. "What was that?"

"There's a scar, though," said Sarah, running her finger along a certain portion of Chuck's arm. "A very distinctive scar. On both sides."

"I don't understand that at all. Those stitches couldn't have been in for twenty-four hours."

Chuck thought quickly, for many reasons. First, at the forefront of his mind, was the possibility of the Intersect having done something to his body that he was not aware of. Because it had to be the Intersect. As Devon had pointed out not ten minutes ago, in a typical capacity, meditation was not a form of healing that took place in such a narrow span of time.

Second on Chuck's mind was the fear in Sarah's eyes. A fear that was threefold: what did this mean about the Intersect? What did this mean to Devon? What did this mean for the CIA?

Third was the look on Devon's face. Perhaps it was time to tell Devon—privately, of course—about the Intersect. Maybe a doctor's consult was what Chuck needed most right now. Maybe an MRI would be able to tell them something about how the Intersect is using his brain.

"Ok, guys, this just isn't normal," said Devon, sitting back down in his chair. Sarah was still examining Chuck's arm. "You have to know I trust you more than anyone," said Devon, directly to Chuck, "but this has begun to be too hard to do blind. I feel like you guys are keeping something from me that would help me do my job." He pulled his wallet out of his pocket, looked around, and then removed a card from it. He held it up for Sarah and Chuck to see. It was a CIA ID card. "I'm official."

Chuck took the wallet from him, looking at it cursorily. "Devon, this is bigger than just being official. This is so classified, a total of...five people know about it." He pointed a thumb at his partners. "And you're looking at three of them." Chuck looked up at Sarah, who was looking at Casey. Chuck whipped his head around to look at Casey, just in time to see him shake his head ever so slightly. "Wait...what was that?"

"Nothing," said Casey. "We can't talk about this here. Both of you need to shut up and eat. We leave in twenty minutes."

Chuck watched Casey closely. Casey made eye contact briefly, giving Chuck a look that told him not to argue. Sarah sat back down and unwrapped her own sandwich, but Devon kept his eyes trained on Chuck.

"Guys..." said Chuck, looking between Casey and Sarah. "Is there something else going on?" When Sarah could only look up at Casey, Chuck shook his head. "I can't believe this."

"Chuck," said Casey, firmly. "That's not fair. You've got to trust us."

"Trust-?" Chuck choked. He shook his head and took another bite of his sandwich.

"Aren't we ignoring the bigger issue here?" asked Devon, whispering low. He leaned in over the table. "The regeneration...issue?"

Sarah shook her head. She opened her mouth to speak, but Casey threw a cautioning grunt. "It's okay, Casey." She looked at Devon, Chuck saw that she was working hard to choose the right words careful and quickly. "Devon, we promise we will explain everything once we get back to the States," she said. Casey growled, unappeased. Sarah held up her hand. "No, Casey. It's time he knew. All of us know we are in way over our hears here."

"Devon's right," said Chuck in agreement. "If he's going to properly be my doctor, he's got to know what's going on. Maybe he can even shed some light on the weird side effects."

Sarah cast Casey a sideways glance. "You know we're right."

Casey bit into his sandwich, growling again. "Better Devon than anyone else, I guess."

Devon, though visibly irritated, seemed to accept Sarah's promise, sensing the tension in the air and understanding the relative danger they were all in. He settled on eating his sandwich and sharing the paper Casey had bought.

They all ate quickly and were soon boarding the plane. The men helped Chuck out of his chair and the flight attendant folded it up and stuck it behind the last row of seats in first class. Casey chose to sit with Devon across the aisle from Chuck and Sarah.

Chuck felt the skin around the wound in his side stretch. It was really sore, and rather itchy, but it did not feel like the pain he had known from it over the last twenty-four hours.

"Are you alright, Chuck?" asked Sarah. She positioned her bag by her feet, then buckled.

"Yeah," said Chuck, nodding. "Just...pain, you know." Sarah watched him, but didn't respond. He knew she was skeptical of him now. He was skeptical. "What?" he asked, when she didn't look away. Not that he minded her looking at him, but the look she had on her face, it was like she was staring at someone she hadn't seen in a long time.

She tilted her head and furrowed her eyebrows. "Did you know your arm healed? Did you do that? Did you flash on it?"

Chuck shook his head. "I had no idea. While Devon was telling me about the surgery, I flashed and understood everything. But that's all. I didn't do anything about it. I don't remember flashing on self regeneration."

"But for other things, like hand to hand combat or using brand new weapons, you are able to use those skills right after you flash on them," Sarah, said, reasoning.

"Well, yes, but the information comes differently," said Chuck, letting his mind wander off. He didn't know where the comment came from, but he knew it was true. The information from an action flash was very different than an intelligence flash.

"I don't follow," said Sarah.

"When I flash on a person or a location or an object, I just get a whole lot of facts," said Chuck. "As though I've always known them, I can just draw them from memory. But when I flash on...something that requires me to do something, like a bow staff or jujitsu, it's like I act without thinking, muscle memory I can control and manipulate. But it's impulsive. And then it goes away." He thought about that for a minute. "Well, it doesn't entirely go away. It comes easier the next time."

Sarah watched him. Interested, immersed. "So why don't you think the Intersect healed your arm?"

Chuck shrugged. "Because the Intersect doesn't work without me prompting it or reacting to it. All Devon did was tell me about the surgery. I sat and listened..." Chuck stopped quickly and started at a spot on the far compartments across the aisle. Sarah was taken by surprise and followed his gaze to where it landed.

"What is it?" she asked.

Chuck blinked, then looked back at her. "What? Nothing, I'm fine."

"You stopped talking," she said. "In mid-sentence. What were you thinking about?"

Chuck looked at Devon, who was looking at him from across the aisle. Sarah and Chuck had been whispering low, there was no way anyone around them could hear what they were saying, but still Devon was staring at Chuck like he'd heard every word. "It's probably nothing," he said in a low voice.

Sarah grabbed his chin and pointed it at her again. "Chuck, nothing is ever nothing with you."

He smiled. "I didn't mean it like that. Look, Sarah, we've got a lot more pressing matters to worry about right now than what my special little friend is capable of."

Sarah rolled her eyes, not please Chuck was trying to change the subject. "Like what?"

"Like...like..." said Chuck, raising his voice. "Like how we're going to handle the Ellie situation." Devon shifted, now definitely overhearing their conversation. "Sarah, you told Doctor Titus we are married?" This is..."

"Chuck," said Sarah, holding up a hand and cutting him off, "you were recovering from surgery and I couldn't find Devon. I was trying to help." She sounded defensive.

Chuck changed gears, surprised by her reaction. "Yes, I know, and I love you for that," said Chuck. Then he lowered his voice, "But the CIA..."

"The CIA will have to deal," said Sarah. "Chuck, do you want to be with me?"

"Sarah, you know I do," he said, frowning. "But..."

"No," said Sarah. "The government doesn't care. If we want to be together, Chuck, why are we letting the government stand between us?"

Chuck blinked. "Okay, I always imagined myself on the other side of this conversation."

They sat in silence throughout the flight attendants' demonstrations of properly buckling techniques and how to use the oxygen max in a crisis, and their silence extended through takeoff. A slight jolt as the plane left the ground made Chuck cringe, and Sarah gripped his hand more tightly.

When the plane was leveling off in the air, Chuck turned his head to look at Sarah. She had repositioned herself so that she was facing Chuck. He smiled.

"Maybe you should just sleep," said Sarah. "You look exhausted."

Chuck laughed. "No offense, sweetheart," he said, stroking her hand lovingly, "but I cannot possibly look worse than you. When did you last sleep, anyway?"

She smiled sheepishly, shrugging. "It's been a while," she admitted. "But I just don't want to fall asleep. I'm worried about you."

Chuck waved a hand dismissively. "We are 30,000 feet in the air. You don't have to worry about me up here. I'm probably just going to watch the in-flight movie. Plus, I need you at 110. You, Casey, you guys are the ones that can get me through this, but not if you fall asleep during a throw down." Sarah laughed. She reached up and touched his face. "I'll be fine, I swear," he reassured her.

"You'll wake me if anything..." she asked, her eyes already starting to droop. She was giving up the fight to stay awake.

"Go to sleep," Chuck encouraged, not promising anything. He took her hand in his again and held it until, moments later, her grip loosened and she was fast asleep. Chuck smiled, settled into his own seat, and passed out.

* * *

Jill stepped into the sunlight and squinted. The bright light annoyed her. Since her months in solitary, her aversion to light was pronounced. Her face was pale and gaunter than ever, though she felt strong and ready for the assignment ahead of her. Much of the Pound's plan boggled her mind, both in its absurdity and boldness. Assimilate back into Chuck's life. How the hell was she supposed to do that?

Now that the Pound had loosed her into the freedom of a solo mission, she found herself extremely conflicted. From the very beginning, when the plan was first revealed to her, she had always intended to protect Chuck until the end. But now, waiting for Chuck and his team to get off their plane, she was wrought with a feeling of debt, as though she had to return a favor or had something to prove to Irina.

Her radiant red hair made her features starkly Russian as she caught her own reflection in the glass. She got approving looks from the people who made eye contact with her, but she stood still and out of the way, checking her watch occasionally and pretending to look down the long line of cars.

Irina had assured her that there was little she needed to do directly with Chuck. She wouldn't be required to talk with or work with Chuck, but work around him, work the people in his life to gain the access to the places she needed to go. Where was the CIA's operations base? Where did Chuck live? Who were his new partners? These were things she could find out by observance and indirect interaction, courtesy of her new look. Those who knew her previously wouldn't recognize her, and those who didn't know her would be intrigued by the culture she suddenly found herself a part of.

The PDA in her pocket began beeping. She pulled it out and looked at the small, flat screen. ALERT was in bold, red letters across the screen. She unlocked the screen and touched the alert. The next message said, "Device 100110 Herring has been registered at . Network unable to gain access. Standing by."

"One zero zero one one zero," Jill whispered aloud. She looked up and looked around. "Chuck?" She scanned the people immediately around her, and as far in as she could see in the airport's main entrance. She slung her bag over her shoulder and moved quickly back inside the doors. Chuck was tall, she expected to be able to spot him right away. His dark curls and long thin face were unmistakable features, ingrained in her memory. They stopped her heart every time she pictured him in her mind.

She stopped and turned on the spot, looking at every face within a fifty-foot radius. When she still wasn't seeing Chuck, she began to panic; she couldn't fail now. In mid-turn, a face caught her eye. She stopped and focused her eyes. He had black hair, but it was short, and that facial structure was unmistakable. That was John Casey.

What, really, were the chances that John Casey, an NSA agent, was in Burbank and not involved with Chuck's team? She waited until John stopped walking; he turned, like he was looking for someone. Another man approached him, carrying bags; he was on the phone and pointing toward the doors. If she wasn't mistaken, that was Chuck's sister's boyfriend, or fiancé. Maybe husband at this point.

But where was Chuck?

The crowd parted a bit and Jill began walking toward them, cautiously. She looked back down at her PDA; the light was still blinking, recognizing Chuck's network presence, a concept she still didn't fully understand.

Then she saw a man in a wheelchair, Casey was blocking him for the most part, but when he wheeled the chair around, Jill stopped and stared for several seconds before peeling away the disguise that hid Chuck from recognition. He was so blonde and pale, and he was slumped over in the chair, as though he was unconscious.

Casey followed the other man through the crowd; people parting as they saw the wheelchair. Jill followed them, pushing her way through the fresh hoard of incoming passengers. They made it out onto the platform before Jill made it to the door. She stood behind the glass, watching as the two men put Chuck into the backseat of a sleek black car. A woman got out of the drivers seat and put the bags into the trunk. Her hair was long and dark, but her features were familiar. If she hadn't paused to speak to Casey over the roof of the car, Jill would never have recognized Sarah.

Jill's blood boiled. Sarah was still around.

As the car pulled away from the side of the road, Jill hailed a cab, cut in front of some unfriendly Californians with a brash apology in Russian, and told the cab driver to follow the black car.

"You got it," said the driver.

* * *

When Chuck awoke next, his senses became alert one at a time. First his hearing: voices whispering close to him, but they still felt distant, and a low, steady beep. Then his sense of feel: a warm hand enclosed around his; he was horizontal. Then he smelled Sarah's perfume, and something else a little less pleasant. His mouth was dry and heavy; there was a sour taste of nonuse in his throat.

"Did his eyes just flicker?" someone asked. The hand in his own clenched and he opened his eyes.

"Chuck? Chuck can you hear me? Asked Sarah. Her face was directly above his now. He squinted in the light. His lids hurt, and blinking felt like weights were set on his lashes.

"Did I fall asleep?" he asked. "Did we land yet?"

"What?" asked Sarah, catching her breath. Her voice sounded alarmed.

"What do you mean, what?" asked Chuck, angrily. "The plane. Did we just land?" Sarah didn't answer right away. He studied the look on her face, frowning. "What is it?"

Devon appeared in his line of vision and it reoccurred to Chuck that he was horizontal, but also that he was lying on a bed. He did not feel like he was in a plane. Devon was wearing a white coat. "Chuck, what is the last thing you remember?

Chuck blinked again. "I just convinced Sarah to go to sleep," he said. She was trying to get me to sleep, but she looked like death." He patted her hand. "No offense, sweetie."

Sarah looked up at Deon. "That was right after we'd leveled off in the air," she said in a whisper. "From Rio."

Devon leaned down. "Chuck, I need to check your vitals. Sarah, do you mind stepping back for a moment?" Sarah let go of Chuck's hand and stepped out of his eyesight. Devon flashed a light in his eyes, then held fingers at his wrist, and finally checked his chest with a stethoscope. "Take a deep breath for me." Chuck breathed. Filling his lungs hurt. It was weird. And lastly, Devon took his blood pressure.

Chuck watched Devon work. His brother in law would not make eye contact with him. He worked steadily, addressing each vital chuck with care. Chuck's gaze drifted to Sarah. He saw her clearly in the light now. She looked incredibly exhausted and pale; there were deep purple circles under her eyes that emphasized and magnified the worry in them. When he caught her eye, her look immediately changed to a pleasant smile. She nodded, as though to confirm everything was going to be okay.

"Everything seems to be normal," said Devon, finally. He turned to Sarah. "His blood pressure is a little low, but he hasn't had solid food in days." He shrugged. "I think his body just can't keep up with the Intersect."

Chuck relaxed the muscles in his neck and laid his head back on the pillow. So Devon had been fully briefed. It was relieving and scary all at once. He was in three times as much danger, but Chuck's health was in better hands now that his personal physician understood the situation fully.

Then his muscles tightened again as Devon's last words replayed in his head. "Wait a second…did you just say I haven't had solid food in days?"

Sarah walked back over to him and rested her hand on his head. "Chuck, you've been unconscious for three days."


	15. The Missing Days

**Chuck vs. the Virus

* * *

**

**Chapter 14**: **The Missing Days**

The muscles in Chuck's neck tensed. "Three days?" he asked, his mouth dry. "I don't understand."

Devon and Sarah exchanged a look. "Chuck, Sarah filled me in on the Intersect," said Devon, crossing his arms and pressing his clipboard against his chest. "The old one, the new one, and what has been happening to you since you downloaded the new one."

Sarah's grip tightened around Chuck's hand. "A lot has happened over the last several months that have led me to believe that the Intersect is causing you more damage than it is helping you."

Chuck frowned. "I wouldn't say that..."

Sarah shook her head. "Chuck..." she shut her eyes. Whatever was on her mind, Chuck thought, she really didn't want to tell him. "Chuck you haven't been well since the beginning," she said, in a low whisper.

"You're different. Mostly a good different, don't get me wrong. I mean, you are more confident, you have direction, and visibly, you look and feel more comfortable in your own skin." She took a deep breath. "It's just that...it feels, sometimes, like the Intersect has reprogrammed certain characteristics of your personality."

"Have you been having vivid dreams, Chuck? Have you felt more paranoid than usual?" asked Devon, sitting on his bed opposite Sarah.

Chuck raised an eyebrow. "Well, yes, obviously. I'm the Intersect."

"He means...the story you told Casey and I, at the CIA facility in Rio. Is that a typical dream for you?" asked Sarah.

Chuck leaned his head back on his pillow, thinking. "No, that was the first I'd experienced." He tugged on Sarah's arm. "What did you mean, though, that it has reprogrammed my personality?"

Sarah shut her eyes. "That was probably a poor choice of words." She cast a wary look at Devon. "Back when we were cover dating, and we'd spend the night together, after you fell asleep you were really calm and quiet. Lately, like, since Harlington, you've been restless. It's like you don't ever get a good night's sleep. You talk constantly. Sometimes you sleep walk to the kitchen and open drawers. And then the little things...like the way you calculate your surroundings..."

"Why didn't you ever tell me this before?" asked Chuck, surprised.

She shrugged. "I thought you were trying to do it or trying to change. Harlington changes people; I know that as well as anyone. They train us to be the best, and clearly, you are rising to the top of that."

"But at what price?" asked Devon. "This Intersect is a level of science I can only fantasize about." He shook his head. "You know, I am a heart surgeon, guys. The brain? The brain is Ellie's expertise."

"No," said Sarah and Chuck at the same time.

"Guys..."

"Devon," said Chuck, holding up his hand. "We brought you in because we had to. Ellie would not understand the work we do. She is...she is..."

"She is exactly like Chuck was three years ago," said Sarah, reaching up to touch Chuck's hair. "When he first began, Chuck was convinced that he was a normal guy trapped in a life he didn't want and didn't fit in to. Of course, the exact opposite was the case, but that didn't stop him from believing he was a fish out of water."

Chuck sighed sarcastically and glanced upwards at the ceiling. "Back when I hated guns and didn't know kung fu." He shook his head. "Come on, Sarah. I was vulnerable, exposed. The worst possible candidate for any type of Intersect."

Sarah put up her hands. "Chuck, you cannot get defensive about this. The Intersect is causing extreme damage."

"I know that. Don't you think I know that? You are the one that didn't believe me. The dream I had the other night? Yeah, who was it saying that I was just coming off anesthesia?" said Chuck, getting upset. The monitor next to his head started beeping faster and faster.

"Chuck, calm down, dude," said Devon. "You can't get worked up. Not here."

Sarah waited patiently at Chuck's side while he calmed down. He felt annoyed and frustrated, but not directly at her. He didn't exactly take offense to what she'd said; he knew it was true and he knew that he couldn't expect everyone to believe him all the time.

The door to Chuck's hospital room opened. As the blinds to the hallway were closed, this sudden entrance startled them all. The nurse grinned apologetically.

"Thanks Jenny," said Devon, stepping aside to let her place the food in front of Chuck.

"Not a problem," she said. She gave Chuck and Sarah a big smile. "It's good to see you awake, Mr. Bartowski. Your wife has been very worried."

Chuck's eyes widened and he looked at Sarah, whose expression did not change. She looked at him with the same fierce control as she had before and the worry did not stray from her one iota.

"Well, Jenny," said Chuck, with as much politeness as he could muster in that moment, "the care I've been given must be exceptional if Sarah's managed to be here so often."

Jenny shrugged, eyeing Sarah with admiration. "We offered to bring her a bed in here, but she didn't want to leave your side in case you woke up."

Chuck had a hard time looking back at Sarah, now. His anger and frustration didn't seem so pronounced after he heard this. Regardless of how anyone had dealt with the last three days, it didn't change the way any of them felt about each other. The more a person knew, Chuck thought, the more they could care.

_Yes_, he thought,_ but the more they can worry. Unnecessarily_.

Jenny left the room and Chuck shut his eyes, feeling sheepish and stupid. He wasn't sure whether he should apologize, but before he could get a change, Sarah spoke to Devon.

Sarah looked over at Devon. "Why don't you go check on Ellie? I think I need to explain to Chuck what happened over the last couple days."

Devon stared at her for a moment. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

She rolled her eyes. "Come on, this isn't anything I haven't handled before."

Devon shrugged and stood up. "Alright," he said. "I'll be back in an hour or so. I will contact Ca—" Sarah shook her head ever so slightly and Devon cut his comment short. "I will contact the Special Care unit to tell them this is under control," he finished. "If there's an emergency, press the button on the remote there." He pointed at the remote Velcroed to the side of Chuck's bed. "And, seriously, guys, if this business with Chuck's head escalates, you really will have to consider bringing Ellie into the loop. Not only would she be able to shed some significant light into what might be going on, but she would kill you if you died without giving her a shot at helping." He smiled, kindly, punched Chuck's shoulder lightly, and left the room.

Sarah moved closer to Chuck's head and leaned down and kissed him on the lips. "You had us really worried there for a while." She brushed his curls back and ran a finger across his three-day stubble.

"Where is Casey?" asked Chuck. He hadn't missed Sarah's intentional sidestep of his name; she'd surely interrupted Devon as he'd been about to say his name.

Sarah bit her lip. "We can worry about that later," she said. "Honestly, there is nothing we can do about it from in here."

"We are at Westside, aren't we?"

"Yes, we are."

"Did you really refuse to get a bed in here?" he asked. She nodded, shrugging. He sighed and lifted his hand up to touch her face. As he did, he couldn't help but notice the ring on his finger. "Okay, I really do need you to explain what happened over the last three days."

She nodded. "I know." But she didn't say anything.

"What?" he asked, as she continued to stare at him.

She shrugged, grinning. "After spending nearly every waking moment with you for the last—what, three years?—it is hard to go three days without knowing whether you'll wake up or not. I just, I just need a moment…" Her voice trailed off and her cheeks turned a little pink, but she still didn't look away.

"You know, I would have asked you to marry me a long time ago if I'd have known you'd be so open to the prospect," he said, gazing back into her beautiful face. "First Wallstreet, now this…you do realize every step gets closer to reality."

Sarah grimaced. "I spoke with Ellie yesterday," she said, regretfully. "She is not happy we _eloped_."

"Is that what you told her?" asked Chuck.

"I couldn't think of anything else," she said, honestly. "I mean, think about it Chuck. Based on everything you know about me, do I really seem like the big wedding, white dress and bridesmaids sort of a girl? Ellie is the only girlfriend I have that I don't have to combat physically on occasion."

Chuck laughed. "True." He thought for a moment. "No, maybe you wouldn't be all those things…but you took that phone call in Rio as my wife for a reason." He grinned. "I think we are breaking you in all over the place, Sarah Walker."

Sarah smiled. "I don't think there is any way out of this," she said, holding his gaze. "And I don't want you to ever think that I trapped you into this solution, but unless we tell Ellie the truth about our _jobs_, we can't tell her our elopement was a fluke."

"Wait, what do you mean _trapped me into this solution_? Do you mean marriage?" asked Chuck.

"Well, yeah," said Sarah, sitting up. "I mean, at first it was the only solution to the dilemma of making sure your sister got the proper care. Then it was allowing me access to be with you here. This by no means…"

"Sarah, please," said Chuck, "don't. This is not high on our priority list. I want to talk about this, but much later, preferably when I'm not lying in a hospital bed, ok?"

She rolled her eyes, not happy to have cut the conversation short, but agreeing that it was not the right time to have it. "Alright, then," she said, reaching over and grabbing the sandwich on the plate Jenny the nurse had brought in. "Shall we get to the story of the last three days?"

Chuck took this sandwich from her and took an enormous bite. "Yes, please."

* * *

Devon knelt in the small space between the foot of the back seat and the passenger's set and huddled over Chuck. In order to get Chuck out of the airport without a hitch, they had to tell an elaborate story to the security guards, insisting that it was Chuck's recent surgery that was causing him to flit in and out of consciousness, that the last vestiges of the anesthesia were still leaving his system.

Sarah glanced in her rearview mirror too many times as she was trying to leave the airport pickup lane. Once she caught a glimpse of a familiar figure on the sidewalk, but when she'd looked back for a second glance, the figure was gone.

"Can you please tell us what's going on, Devon?" asked Sarah, impatiently.

"I'm just checking for the usual stuff, Sarah," said Devon. "But I need _you_ to tell _me_ what is going on. Why is Chuck healing himself?"

In the passenger's seat, Casey grunted, but not out of reluctance. His grunt sounded more encouraging. "Devon, Chuck is a computer." Casey didn't turn around as he spoke. He stared straight out the window. "Imagine any application that could inform and instruct a computer to do anything beyond its natural functions. That is what Chuck has."

Devon turned around and stuck his head between Casey and Sarah. "Wait. What?"

"It's called an Intersect," said Sarah, swerving through traffic and coming to a screeching halt at a light that had turned red. "The NSA and the CIA pooled their secrets together and encoded them into hundreds of thousands of images which Chuck downloaded into his head."

"At least, that was the first time around," said Casey. "The first time he downloaded it, it was by accident. He gets _flashes_, where a name, a place, a face, a codeword, anything that was encoded into those CIA and NSA secret messages can be triggered and then reveals to him all the information available."

"What do you mean, _the first time around_?" asked Devon.

Sarah sped off, a bit more angrily this time. Casey looked over at her. "Chuck's dad was able to remove the first Intersect from his head."

"Chuck's _dad_?" Devon cried. "You've got to be joking me."

"That is a story for another time," said Sarah. "The thing to note is that the old version of the Intersect was removed from Chuck. When agents of our new enemy were about to capture the data and machine for the new Intersect, he downloaded it into his own head instead."

"Intersect 2.0," said Casey. "A computer that functions at a much higher rate than the first one ever did. Not only does it contain more information, but it also possesses the ability to make Chuck a superior and dominating agent without the years of training that Sarah and I went through, for example."

"What do you mean?"

Sarah swung around a corner, narrowly missing a young man crossing the street. The man stumbled to the sidewalk and shouted after the long black car already flying around another corner.

"If Chuck is confronted with a new task, such as scaling a wall with no equipment, or a specific form of Vietnamese street fighting, the Intersect literally provides him with the knowledge to utilize the technique in order to succeed," said Sarah.

Casey finally turned to look at Devon. "It is supposed to make Chuck unstoppable. And for a long time, he was. He flew through each stage of the training process."

"So the healing stuff is a part of all this?" asked Devon.

Casey and Sarah exchanged another look. "If it is, we had no clue," said Sarah.

"I've been getting the impression," Casey said, eyeing Sarah closely, "that the Intersect 2.0 has been taking liberties. Morphing into something even the scientists who created it didn't anticipate."

"Is that possible?" asked Devon.

Sarah came to a startling stop in front of the emergency entrance in front of Westside Hospital. "We have no idea," she said. "But whatever it is, it isn't something the CIA _likes_. We have our suspicions that the CIA tends to _remove_ Chuck once the Intersect overwhelms his brain to a certain extent."

Casey nodded, unbuckling his seatbelt. "We've got to figure out what is wrong with him before that happens and somehow get him to manage it or control it so that whatever the CIA decides to do with him, he has a fighting chance at survival."

"Are you telling me that the CIA is trying to _eliminate_ Chuck?" Devon asked, incredulous.

Sarah stared out the window for a long moment before answering. "We think so."

Devon stared out the windshield. "We got here really fast."

"Are you ready?" asked Sarah.

"Dr. Titus is expecting us, he has a room ready for Chuck," said Devon. "I've only been able to ascertain that Chuck's blood pressure is low. I first need to know as much about the Intersect as I can. How does Chuck respond to…um, what did you call it again?"

"Flashes?" asked Casey. "When the Intersect is triggered, Chuck _flashes_."

"He sort of looks like he's coming down with a quick and sudden migraine," said Sarah. "He'll be gone for a second or two, and then come back…like he's just come up for air from being underwater, or something."

"But they've been getting worse," said Casey. "Now there is more information during each flash and the way the secrets are encoded gives him a much more long-term grasp on everything he downloads."

Devon thought about this for a moment. "Has it modified his behavior?" Casey grunted and then chuckled. "What?"

Sarah sighed. "He's just being crass." She paused. "The Intersect seems to make him more cautious and antsy. He doesn't sleep well. Some things aren't as clear-cut anymore, and sometimes he has a one-track mind, like his actions have side blinders. Nothing can interrupt him when he is in a zone." She stared out the window again, deep in thought.

* * *

"Everything used to distract me before," said Chuck, interrupting Sarah's story.

She smiled. "It's better this way. We're safer when you are able to keep on task."

Chuck laughed. "Yeah, that's for sure. No more running after me because I've been kidnapped and can't defend myself worth a lick." He watched her face. "Just because nothing distracts me…doesn't mean I don't still think about it."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Come on, Chuck. You can't possibly think…"

"I don't have any idea what you are thinking," said Chuck, shortly. "But, honestly, Sarah. When I look at you, no matter where I am, I always am brought back to that insecure and purposeless guy you first met in the Buy More. The guy who wonders how the heck he got from defending his nerd headline to having you sitting here next to my sick bed."

Sarah grinned, laughed lightly, and leaned forward to kiss him. "If you don't know that, then that Intersect must definitely not be working."

"I've checked," said Chuck, sighing, "you are not in it, aside from your involvement in the Intersect project." He shrugged. "That's good, I suppose. If some other lunatic got this in his head, if the enemy got this in their head, what is in here about you couldn't possibly used to harm you."

"What about you?" asked Sarah. "Is there anything in there about you?"

"Nada. I don't really know how to trigger my own information, though. Looking in a mirror doesn't do the trick," he said with a smile. "Last time I found myself in here, it was a photo from college."

"Let's hope there's not much," she said, rubbing his hand. "Anyway, do you want me to go on?"

"Yes, please," said Chuck. "So you just told Devon how the Intersect has altered my behavior."

Sarah nodded. "Devon didn't feel like the brain could be something he could help you with, and as you heard earlier, he still thinks Ellie would be a better fit. He wanted to check on Ellie and start a routine checkup on you."

* * *

"Okay, this is the plan," said Devon, turning to kneel in front of Chuck again. "I am going to go get Dr. Titus and the stretcher and we will wheel Chuck inside. I am going to order a routine battery of tests so that I can see what is going on inside his body. I may not know the brain, but I know how to read tests. If anything is abnormal, we'll be able to test more things." He opened Chuck's eyelids and peered down. "Sarah, since you told Dr. Titus you are Chuck's wife, we can let you come along, but I doubt Casey will be let passed the main doors."

"That's alright, Devon," said Casey, unbuckling. "I have some things to take care of at headquarters." He caught Sarah's eye. "You will keep me up to speed?"

"Yes," said Sarah, "and you, me?"

"I'll call the hospital at 2300 hours, and ask to be transferred to Ellie's room," said Casey. "I'll use the name Peter White, your uncle from Denver. If you've met any agents or suspected any agent activity, ask me if my wife is feeling better. At some point, be deliberate with numbers to give me the room number Chuck is being kept in."

"And how will I know if you have run into trouble?" asked Sarah.

"I will tell _you_ that my wife is still doing poorly and I will need to stay with her for a while before I come to visit," said Casey. "If the agency is going to keep me and question me and there is no possible way for me to make a phone call, and I haven't called by 2330 hours, you have to move Chuck to another location. Hide him. Do whatever. Don't tell anyone where you are going, I will find a way to get in touch with you."

Before Sarah could respond, Casey got out of the car and disappeared between the ambulances and cars parked in the emergency entrance parking lot.

Sarah turned to Devon. "What are you waiting for?"

Devon hurried out of the car and to the main door of the emergency entrance. Sarah unbuckled herself and crawled into the backseat. She was hardly able to contain herself. She touched Chuck's face and leaned down to kiss his lips.

"Come on, Chuck," she said, leaning her forehead against his. "You've got to pull through this." She kissed him again just as the back door opened and Devon appeared in the bright light, a tall doctor in a long white coat standing next to him. Devon helped Sarah out of the car and she quickly wiped the tears that had formed from her eyes.

"Mrs. Bartowski?" asked Dr. Titus, extending his hand.

"Ye-es," said Sarah, a little thrown by the formality, and by the usage of her supposedly new name.

"I'm Doctor Titus," he said, smiling. The smile extended to his eyes; and though he didn't look happy that her _husband_ was in mortal agony, he looked like a kind and genuine man who was happy to be doing his job.

"It's nice to meet you, doctor," said Sarah, grimly. "And please, call me Sarah."

Dr. Titus nodded. "We are going to do everything we can for your husband. Ellie and Devon are like family here, and we tend to treat family with extra care."

Sarah smiled, despite herself. He had a reassurance that was really quite deceptive at first. But it did the trick and she felt a glimmer of hope for the first time since somewhere over the Caribbean. She helped as she could as the two men pulled Chuck out of the car and onto the gurney, then kept a hand to Chuck's shoulder as they rushed him inside.

Once she looked over and saw Devon staring at her, as they were waiting for the elevator. She gave him a curious look, but he just smiled grimly and responded to the elevator doors opening by pushing the gurney in.

The two doctors mostly talked to one another. Devon explained to Dr. Titus the surgery he'd had to perform on Chuck in Brazil and answered specific questions when the doctor inquired about what kinds of improvised tools he had been forced to use.

"When did you first realize Chuck wasn't asleep?" asked Dr. Titus, suddenly directing his questions to Sarah. They were standing in the elevator, going up three levels. "I mean, when you first tried to wake him up and it occurred to you he may be unconscious?"

Sarah didn't hesitate. "I tried to wake him up when the pilot announced an early dinner would be served because they were expecting bad weather in a couple hours. I know anesthesia makes everyone behave differently, so I didn't try to force it." She looked at Devon.

"It was an eighteen hour flight," said Devon, helping Sarah explain. "After he'd been asleep for eight hours, Sarah came to talk to me."

"What is the last thing you remember him saying? Did he mention any pain? Any dizziness?" asked Dr. Titus.

Sarah shook her head. "The opposite, actually. He convinced me to take a nap. The whole day he seemed to get better and better, remarkably so for the incredibly traumatic experience he's had in the last couple days."

"What were you doing in Brazil?" asked Dr. Titus, allowing Sarah to exit the elevator first.

"Chuck and I, and my uncle who has just returned to Denver, were helping out at an English camp in Rio," said Sarah, looking solidly at Devon. "Chuck speaks fluent Portuguese, as does our friend, and I am better equipped to help the adults who know some English practice their reading skills."

"You volunteer, then?" asked Dr. Titus. "With what organization? Is there someone I can contact in order to find out what food Chuck has eaten in the last week? The plants or fungi he may have come into…"

Devon cut the doctor off, as kindly as he could manage. "Doctor Titus," said Devon, "I would like to handle all of Chuck's in-patient care. I've already been talking to Sarah and Peter about the possibilities, but I have more reason to believe it has something to do with the impromptu surgery I had to perform, rather than the environment."

Dr. Titus nodded. "Of course, I got carried away." They stopped in front of door 427. "You will let me know if there is anything I can do?"

"Actually," said Devon, smiling sheepishly. "If you could get someone to begin the routine tests on Chuck, I would really like to go check on Ellie."

"Of course," said Dr. Titus again. "Page me when you are ready to take over. I will let you know who Chuck is with." He turned to face Sarah. "There is a waiting room just down the hall. I can't allow you to go in with Chuck now, but we will send someone to get you when he can have visitors again."

"Thank you, Doctor Titus," said Sarah, crossing her arms. Devon led her down the hallway in the direction Dr. Titus had indicated.

"You can come with me," said Devon, in a low whisper. "I have a couple more questions."

"Is he going to be alright?" asked Sarah, looking back over her shoulder.

"Chuck? Yes, he will just get the routine tests done. The results won't be in before I get back," he said.

Sarah stopped Devon the moment they'd rounded the hallway, out of sight.

"Look," she said, waiting for an orderly to pass before continuing. "There is something else." She told him about the strange event that had caused the shard of glass to be embedded into Chuck's arm, about the gun that Irina had shot off, that it was Sarah's suspicion that the gun had hit Chuck instead of the computer he'd been holding. She explained Chuck's dream, once again, to him, this time including the details she'd left out before. When she was done, Devon was leaning against the wall, holding his head in his hand.

"Are you alright?" asked Sarah. She put a hand on his shoulder.

"This doesn't make any sense," said Devon. "He's the Intersect, a high-level functioning computer, but the computer is causing him to dream and, if I am hearing you right, cause broad electrical shorts with _unaffiliated_ networks. I don't know much about computers Sarah, but this sounds absurd."

Sarah shut her eyes. "The absurdity begins with the Intersect," said Sarah. "_If_ it was possible that Chuck developed some sort of ability to utilize the computer in his head _as a computer_, could there be an interference?" Devon stared at her, dumbfounded. And, apparently, completely lost. "I've had a lot of time to think about this."

* * *

"Wait, you think that the Intersect has started functioning on its own, without my knowledge?" asked Chuck. "Like...my brain is now a Terminator?"

Sarah frowned. "If you keep interrupting me, I'll never get through this story before Devon gets back."

Chuck nodded and shut his eyes.

* * *

Devon, still pondering Sarah's theory, scratched his head and rubbed his eyes. He looked so incredibly tired, and Sarah knew that the only person more on his mind than Chuck was Ellie. She wondered how he did it. As she patiently watched him think and prioritize, his face composed in what had been a constant state of worry for the last 24 hours, Sarah couldn't help but wonder if Chuck ever looked like that when thinking about her. Devon was like Ellie, and like Chuck used to be at the beginning: family first, people and their feelings first, life and protecting the innocent first.

Chuck, Ellie, and Devon loved people like no one she'd ever met, and it intimidated her beyond rationality. Yet, every time she thought she wasn't going to be able to match their level of love or commitment to preserving life, something happened that pushed her to do just what she thought she could not do. Without Chuck, nothing mattered.

She grasped Devon by the shoulder. "Chuck is going to be fine for several hours, right? As much as I hate to say it out loud, there is nothing more we can do until the tests come back, right?"

Devon looked at her through red eyes. "Yeah." He stood up straighter. "Yeah, I need more to work off of."

Sarah nodded, drawing upon every skill she could rouse up, and compartmentalized the numb panic already very present in her chest. "Alright, then let's go take care of Ellie."

Devon smiled, but it did not reached his eyes. He looked grateful. Sarah followed him in silence, reminding herself at every step that Chuck would be taken care of, that he was getting the help he needed, and frantically searched for how she was going to explain to Ellie the impromptu marriage that had taken place.

After two flights upward, and an altogether 15 minute walk, Devon stopped outside a door with the blinds drawn. Before he reached to open the door, he turned to Sarah. His voice was slightly hoarse as he spoke.

"Have you come up with anything to tell her?" he asked.

"I'll have some more time to think it over," said Sarah, sitting down in the nearest chair to Ellie's door. "But I think I'm almost there." Devon looked confused. "I'm not going in there with you right away," she said, answering his unspoken question.

He looked surprised, but thankful. "If it helps, Ellie is a hopeless romantic. And she was always rooting for you." He sighed. "If you can't be honest…" he let his voice trail off, knowing it wasn't his place. He gave Sarah one more helpless look before pushing in to Ellie's room.

Sarah sighed and leaned her head against the wall, exhausted, but refusing to fall asleep.

Devon woke Sarah two hours later by rubbing her shoulder. Sarah started and sat bolt upright.

"Whoa," said Devon, smiling. "It's just me."

"I fell asleep," said Sarah, telling herself, mostly. Then she stood up. "I fell asleep!" Her mind raced as she frantically searched her head for everything she needed to know in that moment.

"It's okay," said Devon. "Everything is going to be okay."

"What's going on? What did I miss?" asked Sarah.

"Well, the official results are back on Ellie," said Devon, quietly. "Apparently she is allergic to some food that she had a sudden, large intake of." He shrugged. "We have to keep her here to make sure there was no permanent damage to her stomach, and to do different cultures which require multiple hours of observation."

The look of burgeoning hope in Devon's eyes made Sarah's spirits lift tremendously. He appeared reassured and confident again, like the Captain Awesome she'd been introduced to almost three years ago.

She took a deep breath. "Well, Captain," she said, grinning, "is Ellie ready for _me_?"

Devon grimaced. "I should say so," he said, a grin flickering like a stubborn candle. "Every time I took a breath she'd ask when you were coming in."

"Does she know Chuck is in here?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. "I told her the story you told Dr. Titus."

Sarah nodded. "Alright. Are you coming in, too?"

Devon smiled. "Of course." He followed her inside the room.

Ellie was sitting bolt upright, her eyes trained on the spot where Sarah entered the room. Her face was expectant, and a little hurt, but mostly rabid with anticipation. Sarah walked straight to Ellie's side.

Sarah could feel herself being hesitant, but she evaluated Ellie's expression carefully, then sat down on the bed.

"Ellie…I…" Sarah began, wondering where in the world she should begin.

But Ellie surprised both Sarah and Devon by quite suddenly bursting into tears. She leaned forward and threw her arms around Sarah, tears streaming out of her face and landing on Sarah's back. Sarah held her, feeling the emotion envelop her like a warm blanket.

It was several minutes before Ellie relinquished Sarah. She looked sheepish when she finally pulled away, but not sorry. She was grinning from ear to ear.

"I knew it would never happen normally for you two," said Ellie, wiping her eyes. "You two were always so stubborn, yet so deliberate. It broke my heart to see Chuck without you."

Sarah grimaced, remembering the footage she'd seen of Chuck's superb acting; it had made her feel like that too, and she'd even known the truth! "It was a tough breakup," said Sarah. "But we reconciled our differences and knew this was the best way to prove that we were ready…for the long haul."

Sarah felt her face grow warm and wished nothing more in that moment than that the marriage was real. She couldn't take her eyes off of Ellie's overjoyed face and realized how much she hated lying to this woman. If it hadn't been for the direness of the situation, she might have told Ellie the whole truth right then. But this was neither the time nor the place for such a confession.

Instead, she allowed Ellie to examine her extravagant ring, the one Chuck said he would not have picked out for her should he have bought it himself. As Ellie held her hand softly, it struck Sarah at how completely opposite Ellie was from her mother, and yet so similar at the same time. In one breath, Faye could take charge of a situation using her dominating personality to affect the change she needed in people, and also request information that was counterintuitive of her station and role in the CIA.

When Ellie looked up at Sarah again, she had to wipe the happy tears from her eyes. "What? Why are you staring at me?" asked Ellie, laughing.

"I am sad and happy, all at once," said Sarah, smiling kindly. "I don't know which I feel more, so it's making me stare."

Ellie touched Sarah's arm and rubbed it gently. "What on earth do you have to feel sad for?" she asked.

"Because I am incapable of a normal wedding, let alone a normal life," said Sarah, sighing. Behind her, Devon coughed spastically, and seemed to be covering a different outburst. Sarah didn't let it bother her.

Ellie brushed her off. "Don't," she said. "The important thing, right now, is that you are married to my brother! Celebration can still happen. You don't have a choice in that." Sarah couldn't help but smile.

Sarah's guilt was partially lifted due to the fact that it was entirely possible that the not too distant future would most likely see a full reveal for Ellie, and—though it made her hold her breath to think about—a real wedding. A wedding in which she could show Ellie the same honor Ellie had shown her.

The phone rang and startled them all. Until a serious look crossed Devon's face, Sarah hadn't even thought about the phone call she was expecting. Devon walked to the phone and picked it up. "Hello?" he asked, trying to sound cheerful. Sarah glanced at the clock: it was 11:30 on the nose. She wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Devon held the receiver to his chest. "It's for you, Sarah."

Ellie snorted. "For Sarah?" Devon shrugged.

"I told my Uncle where I would be if he needed to get ahold of me," said Sarah, trying to explain.

"Don't you have a cell phone?" asked Ellie, curious. She looked at Devon, wide-eyed.

"They just got back from Brazil, babe," said Devon, shrugging, "let it go."

"Hi, this is Sarah," said Sarah, into the phone. She turned away from Ellie and Devon.

"Sarah," said Casey's voice, "this is your Uncle Peter."

"Hi Peter," said Sarah, breathing in deeply. "Have you gotten home safely?"

"Safe and sound," said Casey, though his tone did not seem to agree with his words. "Things are not as I left them. This town has seen some changes in authority, a big crack down on _speeding_. I guess there is some sort of criminal on the loose and they are _pulling people over randomly_ in an effort to find him."

"That's odd," said Sarah, following that Casey didn't literally mean speeding and criminal, but that the Amulet was using various efforts in order to hunt down Chuck. "And in the 427 area code no less, I never thought it possible."

"Copy that," said Casey, grunting. "I'm probably going to stay here with the wife for a few days, to try and calm her nerves." He paused. "I'll be in touch with you if she starts to feel ill again, but for now I think I can handle it. Stay safe, don't make any rash decisions." The line went dead.

Devon cleared his throat as Sarah hung up the phone. "Well?" he asked, pointedly.

"He's fine," said Sarah, turning around. "He's fine, Janet's fine, but I guess something happened in town. He wants to stick around before coming back."

"What?" asked Ellie. "What do you mean?" She looked at her with such harsh suspicion, Sarah had a feeling that none of her conversation with Casey had fooled her. Ellie seemed to be looking right through her, decoding the exchange in its entirety.

Sarah shrugged. "He didn't say. He never really says."

* * *

"And Ellie just accepted that answer?" asked Chuck. He was sitting up in bed, now, holding his own water cup. Sarah was sitting cross-legged at his feet.

She shrugged. "Pretty much," she said, hesitantly. "Every so often she'll ask me if Aunt Janet needs someone to take a look at her medical records."

Chuck shut his eyes. "There's the Ellie I know."

"I'm afraid I've gotten us into a bit of a mess, haven't I?" asked Sarah, biting her lip. "With Ellie, I mean."

Chuck shrugged. "We cover dated for two years. Cover marriage won't be so hard…since we're actually…together."

"The CIA is going to love this one."

"Speaking of the CIA," said Chuck, "have they still not found us?"

Sarah shook her head. "Casey told them we were here. When he called again yesterday, he called as himself." She sat forward. "If we are going to make it through this without being tried for treason or going rogue, we have to be transparent. The CIA sent a couple agents who are monitoring the hospital and this room."

Chuck glanced around the room without moving his head. "Then why are you talking so openly?"

Sarah reached into her pocket at pulled out a small object that looked like a cell phone. "Bug killer," she said. "I turn it off every once in a while to give them something, to let them know we aren't jumping ship." She put it away. "You know, I am a little surprised that they haven't yanked you out of here yet. I'd really like to know what Casey told them to keep them at bay. You realize that in the last week we blew a canon-sized hole into Wallstreet, lost the weapon we were sent to retrieve, went rogue for over 48 hours, and are now in a public hospital all while the Intersect's status is still unknown?"

Chuck cringed. "I don't like thinking about it in one big thought…like that." He paused. "So we still don't know what is wrong with me?"

"Well," said Sarah, getting up off the bed. "We have a couple theories, but as of now, nothing that can actually help you." She pulled the sheets down from Chuck's midsection and pulled up his robe.

"Excuse me?" said Chuck, holding it down. "I'm not exactly _clothed_ underneath here."

"Stop being a baby," said Sarah. "You have underwear on." She continued to pull up the robe and a light pink color glazed Chuck's cheeks. She chuckled. "This is where you were impaled by the glass," she said, running a finger down along Chuck's side. She reached to the side table and grabbed a small mirror, then held it up for Chuck to see where she was pointing. "It is completely healed. Barely a scar."

Chuck took the mirror from her and stared in awe. "How is that possible?"

"Personally, I think it is the Intersect," said Sarah. She flipped her hair around to one side of her head and let it flow down one shoulder. "They have trained you so much to respond to the Intersect without thinking, to let it flow out of you methodically, that you've become intertwined with its processes."

"Kind of like automatic login?" asked Chuck, raising an eyebrow.

"Sure," said Sarah, smiling. "Anyway, if the Intersect is capable of giving you muscle memory in order to perform obscure and highly difficult physical feats, why couldn't it be capable of telling your body how to heal itself? There can't be any fancy medical terminology for it because the method doesn't exist. When you know that you download information from the Intersect it is because there is an external trigger that prompts the information. Well, can't your body, when it is hurting and suffering, prompt the Intersect as well? Except in that case, it doesn't need you to do the work, it does it automatically."

Chuck's eyes were wide open. "You've really been thinking about this, haven't you?" He continued to stare, his mouth agape.

"Don't look so surprised," she said, frowning. "I'm not completely technologically inept."

Chuck shook his head. "I never said you were…but that's…if that's true, that would be remarkable."

"You're telling me," said Sarah. "It's unthinkable." She looked impressed and highly awed, but she did not look pleased. Something about the way she spoke made Chuck think she was holding something back.

"What? Is there something else?" Chuck asked, after a couple moments of silence.

Sarah made a thin line with her lips. "I'm afraid of what the CIA will do when they discover this new development."

Chuck shrugged. "So we don't tell them."

"They are going to demand to study you, run tests on you."

"So?"

"Chuck…" said Sarah, walking around the bed and facing the wall, her back to Chuck. "Do you have any idea what this would mean for developing a super human? Give each one of these to a soldier, to a police officer…the possibilities are endless."

Chuck felt confused, and blinked a couple times while trying to understand where she might be going with this. "Sorry, Sarah, but you have to give me a little something more…I don't know why this is a bad thing. If an Intersect can save a soldier's life, isn't that something we'd want?"

Sarah glanced over her shoulder at him. Suddenly, she looked tired, worried, and like she'd been digging through a haystack looking for an invisible piece of hay. She walked to a table sitting in the far corner of the room and picked up a pile of papers contained in a large folder.

"I don't object to utilizing it as a safeguard for people prone to injury," she said softly, walking back to his bed. She sat down. "Chuck, you are unique, in so many ways, but specifically here in how your brain functions." She laid the folder on his lap. "This is why the CIA can't test you."

Chuck opened the folder and picked up the first page. In Sarah's handwriting, there were names, dates, codes, places. Line after line. He flipped through several pages. Every once in a while there were measurements and small diagrams, but mostly descriptive information about people and locations, allies and enemies, CIA, NSA, FBI, CDC, political and not.

"What is this?" asked Chuck.

"This," said Sarah, "is what you say in your sleep."

Chuck looked up. "Come again?"

"You talk in your sleep, Chuck," she said, "now more than ever. You weren't in a coma, you were asleep."

"And you wrote everything down?" he asked, stunned.

Sarah laughed. "No, no," she said, then she quickly stopped laughing. "This isn't even close to being all that you utter." She sighed. "It isn't all the time, it's not constant. But there are several hours at a time where you will just talk, never in complete sentences, more like you are relieving the pressure in your head."

"Where did all of this come from?" asked Chuck. "I don't recognize any of this."

Sarah shook her head. "All I know is that it is CIA information. The pattern of how this information is organized adheres to strict CIA protocol." She reached up to touch Chuck's arm. "There are two possibilities."

"Okay," said Chuck. "I'm listening."

"Well, the Intersect could be downloading more information than you tell it to," she said, sounding like this was not the possibility she believed. "Or, you got the information from somewhere else."

Chuck laughed. "My external hard drive?"

Sarah did not laugh. "Chuck, the dream you told me and Casey about? What if that actually happened?"

Chuck scoffed. "Come on," he said.

"I don't mean literally," she said. "But, what if the Intersect gave you a visual representation of what it was doing?"

"That is absolutely impossible," said Chuck.

"Isn't the Intersect itself impossible?" asked Sarah. "Isn't self-healing impossible?" She put her finger on the folder on Chuck's lap and jabbed at it. "This is not in the Intersect."

"Are you sure?" asked Chuck. "Because if my brain is just overloading, it's entirely plausible…"

Sarah was shaking her head. "It's not in the original," she reasserted. "I've seen the schematics for the 2.0, this type of information is strictly not included."

They were silent for several minutes. Chuck lost himself staring at her, and she him. He closed the folder and set it on the table beside his bed. Sarah crawled up next to him and rested her head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in closely.

"What does this mean, then?" asked Chuck.

Ellie watched Chuck and Sarah through the window, standing just out of their eye-line. She watched Chuck put the folder aside and Sarah crawl up and fold into Chuck. Her eyes narrowed and she could not seem to take her eyes off the duo.

There were lies surrounding the two of them, but she could not decide which part of it all was the greatest. Was Chuck really with the CIA? Were they really married? Did Sarah know Chuck was with the CIA? Where had they all been, really?

The questions fumed inside her like red-hot pokers. She would get to the bottom of this. She touched the numbers on the sign outside Chuck's room and traced them with her fingers. 427.

"The 427 area code," she repeated to herself. "They all really are in on it, aren't they?" 


	16. The Directions Roads Take Us

**Chuck vs. the Virus**

* * *

AN: I think I missed a couple horizontal lines in the last chapter, my apologies. Sometimes the upload leaves my breaks out. I try to get them all in there! I am going to use LINE to indicated to myself where to insert a horizontal break, so if you see LINE randomly centered between paragraphs, it just means that I missed it and to treat it as a horizontal break. If anyone knows a quick fix to that…I would appreciate it.

Thanks for the reviews! It's the only way I can tell if anyone is truly interested and if I should keep going.

* * *

**Chapter 15: The Directions Roads Take Us**

_Two days earlier…_

Jill sat in the parking lot of Westside Hospital, rattled by the conversation she just had with Irina.

"We don't care about your stupid feelings!" Irina yelled in sharp Russian. The sound of something shattering against a wall echoed on the opposite end of the phone. "I told them you were not ready."

"All I mean is…what use is Chuck to us now?" asked Jill. "I don't understand why the Pound wants him."

"He has our bloody virus," said Irina, in a low growl. "Somehow he stole it."

"Right, right," said Jill, sighing. She still didn't know what that might entail. A virus could be in anything: a phone, a computer…anything electronic, essentially. She'd seen the schematic for the virus during her training. It was the cleverest piece of biotechnology she'd ever seen. It was capable of growth, infestation, and making calculated decisions. It used its agent as a vessel, rather than a host; instead of draining the container, per say, it filled the container with anything and everything from a network that it's advanced technology could break through.

"It must be overflowing with information, now," said Irina, still in a frustrated growl. "It will either stop working, replace old data, or corrupt all together. None of which are viable options. You must retrieve the device that has it! You must!"

Jill got out of the fake delivery truck and slammed the door. She straightened her blue uniform that read _Ron's Flowers_ across the chest, secured her cap firmly on her head, and walked to the back end of the truck. Inside the doors was one bunch of flowers; she gathered them up, handling them with care. Then, tucking her short hair behind her ears, she made her way into the hospital.

She marked the exits with her peripheral vision, made the police officers and security guards in the immediate area, but did not get the feeling any were CIA. She walked to the check-in desk.

"Good afternoon," said Jill, smiling kindly to the woman behind the counter.

"Well, hello," said the woman. "And who might these be for?"

Jill made a deliberate move to check her clipboard. "Chuck Bartowski," she said, after tapping the clipboard with a finger. "And I'm afraid that's all I have."

The woman smiled. "Just a moment," she said. She pulled up the patient records. "Mr. Bartowski is in room 427. However, his status currently states that he is undergoing an MRI. Would you like me to buzz his wife?"

"His…wife…?" asked Jill, momentarily forgetting herself.

"Yes, just one moment," she said. She picked up the phone and dialed another number. "Hi Dr. Woodcomb, this is Denise from patient check-in, how are you feeling today? That's great, we are all pulling for you. Say, your brother has some flowers waiting here. Would you like to send Mrs. Bartowski down to retrieve them or…" She paused as she listened to the person on the other end. "Oh, alright. Thank you." Denise hung up the phone. "She says for you to just take them right to Mr. Bartowski's room."

Jill nodded, grimacing. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," said Denise.

Jill walked away from the desk and made her way to the elevators. Wife? Was this for real? Her head went numb and she could hear her heart beat frantically in her chest. She forced herself to push it aside and punched the 4th floor button. She held the flowers in front of her face, just in case. Ellie knew she was coming up, she might have warned _Chuck's wife_.

There weren't many people in the fourth floor waiting room. The signs pointed her down one of the farthest hallways away from the waiting room, nearer to the backside of the hospital, facing the apartment complexes on the northern side.

Just as she rounded the corner to the hallway where Chuck's room would be, Jill had to quickly hide in the doorway of the nearest bathroom when she saw Devon Woodcomb walk out of room 427 with the CIA agent Sarah, the same one that had been Chuck's partner before and the same one who'd been in the car that picked Chuck up at the airport. They were speaking in low voices, and, then, it occurred to Jill in a spasm of panic that Sarah was the wife the receptionist had been referring to.

The two disappeared around the corner and Jill quickly hurried into room 427. She shut the door behind her and turned to face the room. Chuck was not in there, but she was not surprised at that fact. She set the flowerpot on the bedside table. From her pocket she removed the small microphone, which would transmit every sound from inside the room to an encrypted frequency that she could listen in on within 5 miles from the room. With care, she pressed the transceiver into the soil, then brushed her fingers over the surface to remove the trace of finger tips.

She stepped back, pondering the situation. This was worse, Jill knew, than pretending to date Bryce Larkin. Worse than deceiving Chuck into releasing her from the straps of the lie detector. Worse than setting up Chuck for a kill. There was no turning back now.

* * *

Back in the parking lot, Jill was not surprised to find the large van gone. In its place was a small black Corolla. She felt around under the base of the driver's side door and found a key, then let herself in. The passenger's seat had the full setup of what she required in order to eaves drop on Chuck and his companions. She turned on the radio and logged into the frequency they'd prearranged for this circumstance. While it was tuning, she could already tell there were people in the room.

"But he's…when will it…" it was a woman's voice speaking, getting chopped off by the encrypted frequency. Jill remained patient and continued to listen.

The man's voice was clearer, though the intonations the frequency caused were dramatic. "He is perfectly healthy," said Devon. "I mean, his white cell count is high, but that is typical for someone who just had extensive surgery. His scars are mostly healed, though, and he has no internal injuries. His brain scan, of course, is off the charts, which is bothersome even to me."

The voices evened out and Jill hit record on the laptop. She leaned back in her chair and shut her eyes.

"I need you to tell me more about the Intersect," said Devon. "If you refuse to tell Ellie…"

Sarah cut him off. "Devon, it's not that we wouldn't want Ellie to know, it's just that it is dangerous to know…we are trying to protect her."

"But in this case, you aren't protecting Chuck," said Devon. "Do you really want to put Chuck at risk because you don't have the right doctor looking at the results?"

"That's not fair," said Sarah, quietly. "I love Chuck, and Chuck and I love Ellie. But this is so much bigger than that. No matter how much Chuck would want to tell Ellie the truth, I know he would not put her safety on the line, at least in regard to what is at stake right now. The CIA is not on our side; they don't care about Chuck's safety. And if they don't care about his, they sure as hell don't care about Ellie's."

Jill opened one eye and looked out the window. Well, that was new.

There were three loud thunks in the room, like someone knocking on the door. When the door opened, there were casual hellos.

"Agent Walker, Dr. Woodcomb, I am Agent Francis, and this is my partner Agent Kuro," said a man's deep voice. "We are going to ensure the safety of Agent Bartowski while he remains here."

"Colonel Casey fully briefed us on the situation, and the need for Agent Bartowski to get specialized care," said another man's voice. "We will be at your service should you suspect anything. Here is our pager number."

There were a couple moments of silence, a bit of shuffling, and then the sound of a door closing.

"Go check on Ellie," said Sarah, in a low whisper. "Meet me back in here when Chuck gets out of recovery."

* * *

…_8 hours later…_

Jill sat in her small rental car, the tinted windows masking her completely from the outside world. It was nearing midnight, but her eyes were wide and her fingers tapping wildly on the keyboard. She knew the transceiver was recording everything, but she had to take notes on everything she was learning.

Chuck had been speaking for close to three hours. He wasn't really _talking_, because talking implied he was saying something in a conversational form. He was speaking aloud, but in fragmented bits of information that sounded like entries in a large database. He was rattling off detailed and intricate information in regard to the CIA's internal structure: their command, their locations, field agents, and foreign contacts.

The Intersect, Jill had learned, was something Chuck had acquired himself, and it seemed to be affecting his brain in some way. She couldn't quite see every angle of this very unique feature, but it had suddenly made a lot of things very clear to her.

The door opened, but Chuck continued rattling off monotonously.

"Is he still doing that?" asked Devon.

"Yes," said Sarah. She sounded short.

"Why aren't you just recording it all?" asked Devon.

"I'm trying to find the underlying characteristic of it all," she said. "He usually talks in his sleep, I told you that, but this is something else. It's like…he's overloaded with information."

There was a moment of silence, except for Chuck's incessant speech.

"If the Intersect functions as you say it does," said Devon, slowly, as though he were only coming up with it as he spoke, "that it requires an external trigger to relay the information, would it be safe to assume that the Intersect is malfunctioning?"

"I suppose," said Sarah, "yeah, I'd say it certainly isn't normal." She paused. "In three years, I've never seen him do anything like this."

"He's never accidentally given up information?"

"No, never. Whenever he flashes, he's good at covering it up if other people are around," said Sarah, thoughtfully. "What are you thinking?"

"The MRI we took of his brain about three hours ago clearly indicates his brain activity is returning to normal," said Devon. "It's almost like this is the final phase of relief. Like the brain is bleeding the information out." He caught himself. "No, not literally. I just mean, damn, Ellie would be so much better at this." Suddenly he stopped. "Sarah…"

"What?" asked Sarah, sounding alarmed.

Jill stopped typing. She froze in her seat. Devon's tone had changed so quickly, it worried her.

"Where did those flowers come from?" he asked.

Sarah chuckled. "Read the card." There were a couple moments of silence, then an equally amused chuckle from Devon. "Pretty nice, hmm?"

"How did they know?"

"Who knows," said Sarah. "Morgan calls all the time. Maybe he tried Ellie when he couldn't get a hold of Chuck for a couple days."

"From your friends at the Buy More," said Devon, reading off the card. "Get well soon." He scoffed. "I guess you can't expect too much originality out of them, eh?" Jill frowned at this comment, but then shrugged it off; if the unoriginality staved off suspicion, well that's what she was shooting for.

"Did you sweep the room for bugs?" asked Devon, in a really low whisper.

"Yes," said Sarah, in a normal voice. "There are at least ten in this room alone." Then, a moment later, she said, "Bug killer."

"Ahh," said Devon. "What about Ellie's room?"

"I'll bring this with me," said Sarah. "Regardless of whether there are bugs in there or not, you and I should be safe wherever we talk." Jill figured she must have been holding something that acted as a bug killer. She smirked, though, knowing that Sarah had not entirely swept the room. It gave her satisfaction.

There were a couple moments of silence, again, in which Chuck's voice stopped.

"That should be all for a little while," said Sarah. "I don't know why it decides to come in spurts."

"We can make up a bed next to Chuck for you, you know," said Devon. "It is really simple."

"That's okay," said Sarah, yawning. "I want to know the minute he wakes up."

"That cannot be comfortable," said Devon. "He's like a rock, out cold."

"I don't care," said Sarah. "I will be fine."

* * *

_...and another 10 hours after that…_

Jill had taken a half hour break. She had to pee inexplicably bad and was hungry beyond belief. Though noon was probably the height of danger for her to venture out of her Corolla, she could not contain it any longer. In the night she'd changed out of her Ron's Flowers delivery uniform and put on casual, dull clothing that would help her blend in.

Rather than risking eating in a public place, however, Jill took her food back to the car. She wanted to breeze through the half hour of taped she missed and would be expected to phone Irina in less than an hour. After her first report of the concept of an Intersect, Irina believed that all doubts she'd had for her little protégé had vanished, that she truly was living up to her potential.

"But what about the virus?" asked Irina. They'd spoken after silence had overtaken Chuck's room, and Sarah's heavy breathing filled the airwaves.

Jill had to figure out which device in Chuck's possession had the virus. So far, the tracking software was odd and intermittent. Sometimes she thought it followed someone around, but other times it was stationary for a long period of time. At one point it cut out completely, and Jill panicked. But like it had just been reset, it came back on the radar within an hour.

Patience.

The backup tape was a lot of Devon and Dr. Titus, discussing Chuck's brain scans, most of which Jill recognized and could understand. She didn't find anything incredibly odd with the results, except for the fact that Devon kept trying to veer Dr. Titus away from a line of thought. Every time Dr. Titus suggested that they hook Chuck up to an EEG to monitor the brain waves, Devon would try to change the subject.

Dr. Titus didn't seem to notice.

Sarah spoke to Chuck a couple times, while, Jill assumed, they were alone. It made her sick and upset. She fast-forwarded.

Then there was something interesting.

There was a knock at the door, but no voices came from inside the room. The door opened.

"Sarah?" the soft voice was Ellie's.

Jill's stomach turned over. She had liked Ellie a great deal back when she and Chuck were dating. It was good to hear her voice, even if she was actually betraying the woman who had been so kind to her all those years ago.

"Sarah? Sweetie?" Ellie said again. Jill figured Sarah must be asleep.

"What? Ellie?" Sarah's voice became alert. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," said Ellie, cautiously. "Are you alright? Sorry, but you look positively frazzled."

"I'm fine," said Sarah, unconvincingly. "What time is it?"

"A little after noon," answered Ellie. "Are you hungry? I was going to go get something to eat." Ellie laughed. "I still can't get over Chuck's hair. You are going to have to tell me what inspired that change."

Sarah didn't answer right away. Jill imagined she was looking at Chuck, judging whether she could leave him alone, or perhaps wondering if he'd wake up before she got back.

Sure enough, Ellie broke the silence with, "He will be fine, Sarah. You need to take a break, get outside of this room. Heck, get outside of this hospital if you can."

Sarah's voice was even and factual. "I'm not leaving."

Ellie sighed, audibly, but she sounded amused. "It's nice to see someone taking care of my brother," she said, sweetly. "I am so glad it's you, I was rooting for you two all along." There was rummaging in the room; a chair or a table moved. "Hey Sarah?"

"Yeah?" said Sarah. The shuffling stopped.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

Ellie hesitated. "This is hypothetical, of course, but…say you knew someone was keeping something from you. A big something. You have an idea of what it is, but you're worried you might be wrong and you don't want to hurt their feelings by suggesting it." She took a deep breath. "Would you be able to sit around and wait for them to come around to telling you, or would you confront them?"

Sarah didn't answer right away, and Jill could think of many reasons why. Did Ellie suspect her of something? Or Chuck, maybe? Jill turned up the volume and leaned closer to the laptop, as though she could see right into the room.

"That's a good question," said Sarah, seriously. "I don't know, to be honest. It depends on the person, I guess, and on what it is I think I know."

"Have you ever thought Chuck was hiding anything from you?" asked Ellie.

Sarah laughed. "Actually, yes," she said. "Chuck is…unique, though. The things he doesn't tell me, they're not secrets that would ever change the way I feel about him or that would make me think any less of him. They just aren't the things I'd expect him to keep from me, the things I'd think he'd want to tell me."

"Have you ever had to confront him about anything?" asked Ellie.

"No," said Sarah. "He always comes around in the end, when it counts." Another gap of silence. "Ellie, if this is about Chuck or Devon…"

"It's not," said Ellie. "It's just, waking up to find Devon gone, then collapsing at Chuck's to wake up here, and everything that's gone on here…"

"Wait," said Sarah, cutting her off. "You collapsed at _Chuck's_?"

"Well, yes," said Ellie. "Didn't Devon tell you?" The door opened and their voices faded into the hallway.

"No," said Sarah, as the door shut.

* * *

Jill leaned in toward the laptop, again, with rapt attention. She had forgotten about the Corolla, the parking lot, the hospital, her mission, _the_ mission. Everything else had vanished from her mind but the voices coming from the transceiver placed deceptively in the pot of flowers next to Chuck's hospital bed. It was like listening to an enthralling story, an unexpected surprise.

Her ears quite literally burned with the need and want to hear more about the fascinating situation Chuck and Sarah had found themselves in. They weren't married, no, they were play-acting due to twisty circumstances. They were, however, together, which Jill felt she could deal with. She didn't know why it bothered her so much to see Chuck happy.

It wasn't Chuck, though, when she really thought about it. It was Sarah. Back when she'd been instructed to seduce Chuck in order to lead Fulcrum to the mole's information, she'd returned to that state of mind from freshman year with Chuck: wandering around campus hand-in-hand, kissing under the large oak trees, Chuck's spontaneous picnics. She'd truly cared for Chuck, until the prospect of money and power took over. But Sarah: Jill had known since the first time she watched the two of them interact that Sarah was falling for him, and the look on that woman's face as she paid attention to and worried about Chuck, it made her sick to her stomach. It made her stomach tighten and her lips form a thin grimace.

As she continued to listen to the conversation that would inevitably establish herself within the Pound forevermore, Jill found it easier to listen to their lovey-dovey exchanges, Sarah's gentle voice, and Chuck's incessant questions.

"Chuck," said Sarah, seriously, "the dream you told me and Casey about? What if that actually happened?"

Chuck scoffed. "Come on," he said.

"I don't mean literally," she said. "But, what if the Intersect gave you a visual representation of what it was doing?"

"That is absolutely impossible," said Chuck.

"Isn't the Intersect itself impossible?" asked Sarah. "Isn't self-healing impossible? This is not in the Intersect."

"Are you sure?" asked Chuck. "Because if my brain is just overloading, it's entirely plausible…"

"It's not in the original," she said. "I've seen the schematics for the two point oh, this type of information is strictly not included."

They were silent for several minutes. There was movement in the room, but Jill sat absolutely still in the pitch blackness of the night.

"What does this mean, then?" asked Chuck.

Jill's cell phone rang. She jumped in her seat, cursing louder than she should have. If anyone were walking nearby the car, they would have heard that. She felt around for her phone.

"It's me," said Irina, hotly, when Jill answered. "What news do you have?"

"You aren't going to believe it," said Jill. And slowly, she combined her dialogue with sound bites from the last hour, where Sarah had told Chuck the entire story of his stay in the hospital, down to the very intricate details of how the Intersect worked and how it was acting up on him. Jill had deduced for herself the problem Chuck was having, now knowing both sides of the story. The virus tracker was not malfunctioning or misbehaving, it was following Chuck because it had _infected_ Chuck. She was going to let Irina come to that conclusion herself, however.

Irina spoke rapidly and asked a lot of questions, for which Jill had answers to. Where was the NSA agent? How were Chuck's family members involved? How much did the CIA know? Jill's answers were, of course, that Casey was trapped at the Amulet—which they decided was the CIA's new headquarters; Devon knew everything, Ellie knew nothing; and the CIA seemed to know Chuck was the Intersect, but did not know the trouble he was having with it. The CIA was being kept in the dark of, perhaps, the most incredible achievement of man.

"So, you are telling me that the Intersect, which was originally designed to provide instant intelligence to whomever held it in their head, is now healing its host?" asked Irina, after another half an hour of speaking with Jill.

"Yes, that is my perception," said Jill. She found the sound bite from earlier that day, when Sarah had explained how she told Devon what the Intersect was. That, almost literally, Chuck is a computer.

"This is incredible news," said Irina. Her voice actually sounded positive, it did not have that cruel under bite it usually held. "Do you know what this means?"

"I believe I have a good idea," said Jill, smirking.

"It's time," said Irina. "We finally have the information we need to take down the CIA's most promising agent. Though, I'll be damned if we can find a way to get that virus back."

"If we get Chuck, we get the virus," said Jill. "He is perceptible to anything, and based on what the virus is programmed to do, he cannot control its processes. He might be able to store the data, but, like you heard, it all has to come out at some point."

Though there were thousands of miles between them, Jill could practically see the anticipation on Irina's face, the cogs working her brain quickly and methodically.

"I need to get in touch with our CIA mole," said Irina, excitedly. "We need to take Chuck in a public place, where there is the possibility of many casualties." She laughed, like a little school girl. "This is almost too good to imagine. Oh, my dear Jill, I knew you would pull through for us."

_No you didn't_, Jill thought, icily. But she smiled in spite of herself. "Thank you, Irina."

"Don't thank me just yet," said Irina. "Your job there is only just beginning."

* * *

_Meanwhile, at the Amulet…_

Casey paced around the small room he'd been given. He was being detained while the odd Agent Brook made arrangements to have Chuck transported from the hospital to the Amulet. He could hear the man through the wall, from time to time, and cringed at the thought that he could have warned Sarah to get herself and Chuck far, far away from Burbank.

There had been no voices from the other room for quite some time. He'd begun to lose track of the exact hours, but Casey knew relatively that it was close to 1 a.m. He'd just sat down, in complete exhaustion, when the door to his room opened. He stood up quickly.

"Agent Halloway?" he said, confused.

"We have a problem, Casey," said Faye Halloway. She was dressed in a dark black suit, her hair brought back into a bun behind her head. Streaks of white glistened in the fluorescent lights from above their heads. "Let's go."

"What is going on?" asked Casey, picking up his jacket and following her out of the room.

"I've just taken over command here at the Amulet," said Faye. "I found it pertinent to address the issues of command within this local organization. After discussing this at length with my colleagues in Washington over the last two days, and further analysis by our techs in Rio, we have concluded that there is only one possible reason for this all."

"And what might that be?" asked Casey. Faye took a sharp corner and headed down a narrow hallway Casey had not noticed before.

"It's two sided, actually," said Faye. "First of all, the virus that wiped us out in Rio? Chuck caused that."

"What?" asked Casey. "That's impossible."

"No," said Faye, chuckling humorlessly. "It's actually not." She led the way into a small office. When Casey had entered, she shut the door and punched in a code on a keypad. The room was a small video-conferencing room with a large screen on one wall, and one computer next to it. "We just intercepted the details for the weapon we were attempting to acquire in Rio. The Russians are calling it _The Herring_."

Casey watched the schematics pop up on the screen in front of him. The animation broke the machine apart, as though it was an assembly manual, and rotated it for maximum viewership.

"Literally," said Faye, "it fires a electronic impulse, like aiming a remote at a television, and imbues _another_ electronic source with a strict, unalterable code."

"A virus," said Casey, under his breath.

"Yes," said Faye. "A computer virus."

Casey turned to face her. "And this is what is wrong with Chuck?" She nodded. "What can we do?"

Faye drew in a breath. "Right now, the virus in Chuck's Intersect is not our biggest concern."

Casey's eyes widened. "What is, then?"

"We have a mole, it is my belief that it is here at the Amulet," said Faye. "During the meetings with Washington, we analyzed the greatest number of leaks over the past 3 months and found a common link."

"What was the link?"

"It was actually the absence of problems," said Faye, curiously. She pulled up a couple records on the screen. "You and Chuck are the only two agents who were stationed here immediately following Chuck's graduation from Harlington. That wouldn't be surprising, except for the fact that this is optimal emersion training. This facility is the most advanced we devised in the United States, for obvious reasons." She hit another button again. "These are ten requests, three within the last week and a half, for agents to be stationed here."

"I take it that's a lot," said Casey.

"Requests? No. Denials? Yes, oh yes."

"What changed? How did you find this?" asked Casey.

Faye pulled up another record. A face popped up on the screen. "Do you recognize him?"

"Sure," said Casey. "I wouldn't have known his name, but he trained with Chuck at Harlington."

"He was assigned here yesterday," said Faye, turning to face Casey full on, now. "Direct orders from Agent Brook himself."

"Alright…?" Casey said. He could sense where this was going, but it didn't seem to be as obvious to him as Faye was evidently hoping.

"Well, in a nut shell, Paul Harris was Chuck's direct combat partner while you were visiting me the second time," said Faye. "Harris was recruited right out of high school. He has a temper, but he also takes orders like a soldier." She frowned. "Our problem now is that both Harris and Brook are missing."

"Missing?" asked Casey.

"As in, disappeared. There is no trace of them," she said. "Unfortunately, I arrived here just after we realized what was going on."

"And what _is_ going on?"

"Brook ordered Harris's red test. The transmission was retrieved from deleted files on Brook's computer," said Faye. She pushed another button and Brook's harried voice filled the room.

"Agent Harris?"

"Yes, Agent Brook, sir?" said the young Harris boy.

"It is time for the final phase of your training," said Brook. "You are to report to Burbank, California tomorrow at 8 a.m. to receive the details of your red test."

There was a moment of silence. "Yes sir," said the boy, confidently. "Who is my target, sir?"

"An agent who has turned," said Brook, solemnly. "An agent who was well respected before he became a menace to our organization. He is now actively tearing it apart from the inside out. He's corrupted agents, he's deceived so many within the CIA, and he's now trying to steal from us our most classified weapon."

When Harris spoke again, he sounded almost greedy. "Sir, who is my target?"

"Agent Charles Bartowski," said Brook. "When you arrive tomorrow morning, you and I will discuss what needs to happen. Be prepared for any situation."

The end of the recording fizzled out. Faye looked at Casey. "Brook has ordered Chuck to be assassinated."

"Brook is the mole," said Casey. "I have to go…"

"Where are you going?" asked Faye.

"I have to go protect Chuck," said Casey. "Sarah, Ellie, Devon…all of them are in immediate danger."

"We already have teams surrounding the hospital," said Faye. "There is absolutely no way Chuck can be harmed."

Casey stepped forward and, very seriously, looked the mother of Chuck Bartowski in the eyes. "With all due respect, Mrs. Bartowski, do you remember _your_ red test?"

Faye blinked a couple times defiantly, then her posture slackened. While the red test is one of the most frightful and horrifying experience of any young CIA agent's career, it was also the one that could never be duplicated. The pains and effort each took to accomplish their goal was extraordinary. Never had any of them utilized the skills they'd been taught, both in physical technique and physical disguise, in order to accomplish their goal.

There was nothing more dangerous than an agent out to fulfill their red test. For fail that, and everything they'd worked for would be moot. The agent was a chameleon.

Faye opened the door for Casey and he ran out of the room, out of the building, and to his own SUV. This day would not go down in history as the day Chuck Bartowski was assassinated.

* * *

Chuck stretched his arms and yawned. He was finally on his feet. He felt no pain, as one recovering from extensive surgeries as his had been should feel, only extreme exhaustion. Sarah had gone to take care of the last of the hospital's paperwork and Ellie, too, was getting checked out. Her antibiotic treatment did not have to be monitored any longer and she would be able to start working again next week.

He and Sarah were forced to collaborate and tell Ellie a story of their elopement, and then describe the accident that had forced them to send for Devon. The explanation of the whole ordeal still did not feel satisfactory to Chuck, but Ellie seemed to accept it, though there was a look in her eyes that Chuck couldn't quite read. Ellie kept looking at Sarah, like she was trying to gauge her reaction to things he said.

Finally having real clothes on, Chuck sat back down on the hospital bed to keep the room from spinning, he might not be in pain but the exhaustion was like nothing he'd ever experienced. The Intersect certainly was putting a strain on his brain, and as much as he hated to admit it, he wasn't sure whether he could keep on like this for much longer. Maybe it was time to hunt down his father—again—and tell him the truth about the new Intersect.

So many lives had been lost in the process of developing the Intersect. So much money and training, he certainly wasn't the ideal candidate for such a machine, but he couldn't help thinking he was one of the safest. Though the CIA was full of people who genuinely cared and revered for their country, it was also full of traitors and self-serving individuals who were out for another cause than the betterment of American society. There was so much more at stake here than just the success of the Intersect project; if the Intersect was working on its own, that had to mean a portion of him was slipping away. Just like any computer, partitioning the hard drives of his brain would allocate at least _some_ of himself to a cause other than what is normal to man.

There was a knock at the door. He looked up. "Come in," he said, standing to his feet.

The door opened and a young man, whom Chuck recognized immediately walked in. A smile spread across Chuck's face. "Paul?" he laughed and walked toward him, extending his hand. "Wow, it is good to see you. What are you doing here?"

Paul drew his gun from under his shirt and pointed it at Chuck's chest. "You've betrayed your country, Chuck. You turned your back on everyone who has fought to make you exemplary! How could you do it?"

Chuck stopped abruptly and put up his hands instinctively. The Intersect instructed him on what to do, but he couldn't seem to comply with its wishes. He froze, staring at the small black hold in the handgun.

"Paul?" asked Chuck, stepping backward, hands still raised.

"Shut up, Bartowski," said Paul, through clenched teeth. "You made us all look like fools…now you are a disgrace to the agency." Paul shut his eyes.

* * *

Casey screeched to a halt in front of the hospital. He left the car at an odd tilt, one wheel on the sidewalk, and the door open, and ran into the hospital. He flashed his NSA badge at the officers who attempted to stop him.

"We have a code red," said Casey, in a low, but confident whisper. "We need to evacuate as much of the fourth floor as possible."

"Sir, that's ICU and recovery!" exclaimed one officer. "We can't move those patients."

Quickly, Casey was joined by dozens of other agents, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. Casey grimaced and looked around. "We have to do a floor by floor sweep," said Casey. "We don't know whether Paul knows where Agent Bartowski is. I will take four of you to the fourth floor. Even if this is a code red, we cannot raise alarm. Move swiftly, quietly, and deliberately. Paul may not know his red test was ordered by a mole." He took out Paul's picture and showed it to the other agents. "This is what he looked like yesterday."

"Has he done something to himself, Colonel Casey?" asked one of the agents.

Casey frowned. "Do you remember your red test, agent?" The agent nodded, understanding. "Alright, break into teams and start sweeping." He pointed at four other agents and motioned for them to come with him. "We will each go up to the fourth floor in a different way. I will go up the east stairwell, one of you take the elevator." They nodded and dispersed.

Casey moved to the stairwell, looking in doors and into people's faces as he moved. He was wearing the same clothes as he had been on the plane home from Brazil. He moved cautiously through the hall and into the stairwell. Inside the doors, he paused and listened. He remained completely still for a whole minute before moving.

The fourth floor was dead silence. The lights were out among several hallways, it being only 6 a.m., and a couple doctors moved along the hallway. He leaned down one hallway and saw another agent checking rooms. Casey went down the largest hallway, in the direction Chuck's room would be. He got low to the ground and checked all the nooks and crannies. When a middle aged man came out of a nearby bathroom, Casey pulled out his badge to show the man, then instructed him without words to get down on the ground in a nearby corner.

As he rounded the corner, Casey saw the fourth floor nurses station. To his dismay, Ellie, Devon, and Sarah were all standing around it, speaking in low voices, with a couple other doctors and nurses. Ellie saw Casey first, and her jaw nearly dropped. Another doctor had been talking to her at the moment she spotted Casey and turned to look. His eyes widened as he took in the man clothed in black holding a large firearm. They both backed themselves against the counter in frozen fright.

Casey peeked around the corner, checking the hallway, then ran on the balls of his feet to the other side of the hallway, motioning for them all to stay low. Sarah did not crouch down. She took one look at Casey's face, her own pale white with a blanket fear, and began bolting down the hallway.

"Sarah!" Casey called after her. She ignored him. He ran after her.

She rounded one more corner and disappeared from his sight. Behind him, he could hear someone, or maybe more than one person, following him. He turned the corner and saw her standing outside the door to room 427. She didn't look back at him before, from somewhere on her person, she drew a gun and kicked the door open.

"Don't move," she shouted. "If you shoot, I shoot."

Someone screamed behind Casey and he turned his head only momentarily. Sarah stepped into the room, breathing heavily. Casey walked to her side and looked in. Paul Harris was pointing a gun at Chuck's heart; Chuck was backed up against the far wall. Behind them, Devon, Ellie, and Dr. Titus gathered. Casey forced himself to ignore them, Chuck had to be his priority here.

"He's turned on us," said Paul, loudly. His voice became gradually louder. "We've all been played, Bartowski is a traitor, a liar, and a damned pain in my ass." Casey couldn't understand why Chuck was just allowing this to happen; he had the Intersect, afterall, he'd gotten out of much worse situations than this. But now, Chuck had an inexplicable look of fear on his face. Casey could see, out of the corner of his eye, that though Sarah's gun was trained keenly on Paul's head, her eyes were on Chuck. Her face was perplexing as well; she did not understand either.

"The Fulcrum agent turned him," said Paul, loudly. "His ex-girlfriend? She turned him and they've been working together ever since."

Casey frowned. Of all the things Brook could have told Paul to convince him Chuck had turned, this seemed to be a bit of a stretch. But, he couldn't deny that Paul had been thoroughly convinced; yet, even so, something had kept him from killing Chuck the moment he'd walked through the door.

"That's not true, Paul," said Casey. "It's Brook who's turned. It's Brook who's working for the Russians." He saw Sarah's head flicker in his direction, and just as quickly refocus. "You've got to listen to us, Paul. Chuck…Chuck is our only way out of this mess. Brook, The Pound, they want him, dead or alive, but preferably alive, and if you learned anything about withstanding torture at Harlington, you've got to remember the practical lesson on that."

Paul's arms quivered ever so slightly, but he did not lower his weapon. "No, no, no!" he said. "No! Chuck is working for the Russians. He's been working for them for months. I've seen his records, his sporadic results. He's a freak and a genius and a menace all at the same time. He's dangerous and a threat to the United States and her allies." He stepped closer to Chuck. "And threats must be disposed of, regardless of the cost."

"Don't move Paul, I will shoot if you take one more step," said Sarah, very firmly. She cocked the gun.

Paul stopped moving forward. Apparently, there was a cost to disposal.

"Come on, man," said Chuck, gulping. His eyes flickered towards his sister, whose face was glistening with tears. "Do you realize where you are? What you're doing? Would the CIA really sanction something like this?"

Paul shook his head. "It don't make sense," said Paul. "You don't add up, Bartowski. There was always something different about you. And now I get it."

"We can explain all that," said Chuck. "I swear, man, it's not true, I have not betrayed my country. For the first time in my life, I know my purpose. I know what I'm supposed to do."

Paul was still shaking his head. "Prove it. Prove it."

"Prove what?" asked Chuck. "Prove that I haven't done something? What would prove it to you, Paul?"

At that moment, Casey's radio fuzzed and voices came in. "Colonel Casey, this is Agent Jopp, come in, over," said the voice.

Casey picked up his radio. "Agent Jopp, this is Casey. Secure the building, we've found the perp, over."

"Is Agent Bartowski secure, over?"

"Affirmative," said Casey. "Sweep the parking lot, but do not leave the premises, over."

"Roger that," said Agent Jopp. The radio died.

There were several moments of silence, where Casey noted with great anxiety the sweat falling from Paul's brow. The kid was truly conflicted.

"You know, don't you, that if you shoot Chuck, Agent Walker will take you down one millisecond later," said Casey, in a flat voice.

Paul grimaced and regripped his gun. "I can't fail my red test! I'll be finished!"

"You failed the test the moment you walked through this door," said Casey. "Think about everything you know. Come on, you know Chuck. You trained with him."

"Three seconds," said Sarah. "You have three seconds to put down your gun. Two."

Paul lowered his gun and let it fall to the floor. Ellie raced inside, pushing passed Sarah, and flung herself into Chuck's arms, sobbing.

Casey's radio crackled again. "Colonel! We've got a problem! I found a couple men, badly wounded, in the east stairwell nearer the second floor."

Casey held Sarah's eye as responded. "We're on sixth west. We're going to attempt an escape out the farthest west exit."

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "But we're on 4 east…" then her look changed. "Do you think he's turned, too?"

Casey shrugged. "Only one way to find out."

"How's that?" asked Devon.

Casey turned. "If there is activity in the west portion of the hospital, he's not one of us," he said. Then, with a look of complete horror on Devon and Dr. Titus's faces, Casey added, "We have more people on our side than not, doctor. The hospital is secure."

Paul had fallen to the floor. Sarah stood over him and he looked up. "It was a good decision to drop your gun," she said, coldly.

He shook his head, in disbelief. "No offense, Walker, but based on what I've heard about you, I did not expect hesitation from you," he said.

Sarah looked up at Chuck, who was watching her through Ellie's hair. "I've become a much better judge of character," she said. "But, if you would have fired or stepped forward another millimeter, I would have blown your freaking head off."

"We've got to move," said Casey. "It's not safe here."

Chuck pried Ellie off him and walked toward Casey. "Is The Pound _here_?"

"We think so," said Casey. "Brook ordered Paul's red test at a very interesting time. There's a lot we need to discuss, but we've got to get to a safe place."

"Can't we go back to the Amulet?" asked Chuck.

Casey shook his head. "It's being evacuated. Brook knows every inch of that place."

"What about Castle?" asked Sarah.

"We've got to go off grid, get out of town," said Casey. "I've been instructed we can take care of the problem remotely. I've been given contact protocols." He walked toward the door, then stopped to turn to the doctors. "What is the most well-hidden escape route in this hospital?"

Devon nodded. "Follow me."

Chuck wrapped an arm around his sister and looked down at Paul. "You're coming with us," he said. "Get up, let's move." Paul didn't question him, he got up and stuck behind Casey like a shadow. Chuck took Sarah's hand, then leaned down and kissed her. "Thank you."

"I can't believe I hesitated," she said, touching his face. "What would have happened if I was wrong?"

"It always works out, doesn't it? Even when I'm wrong?" Chuck smiled.

"Chuck, will you please explain to me what is going on?" asked Ellie.

Chuck shook his head. "Not here," he said. "Later. We've got to get out of here."

"Do you work for the CIA?" she asked.

Chuck's breath caught in his throat. "Yes."

"Does Sarah?"

Sarah looked at Chuck, then she answered yes as well.

"Is any of this real?"

"It is all very, very real," said Chuck.


	17. Escape to the Mountains

Chuck vs. the Virus

* * *

AN: I apologize for the technical stuff in this chapter. I tried to mix in a lot of good convo in the midst of it, but I wanted to explain how everything is tying in together without making everyone just take it for granted that this all is possible, which maybe you have no problem doing…I just don't know how to write that way. I promise VERY INTERESTING HAPPENINGS AND GOINGS ON next chapter…..mwahaha.

* * *

Chapter 16: Escape to the Mountains

The man formerly known as Agent Warren Brooks held his head his hands and stared at the dark grey carpet of his hotel room. He'd been sitting that way for some time now, the forged files of Agent Charles Bartowski spread out behind him on the bed and the horrified determination of the younger CIA agent he'd duped into following false orders imprinted on his retinas.

"What's wrong?" asked the daunting Jill Roberts, whose reputation, charm, and beauty were understatements by both the CIA and The Pound. She did not sound rude or cruel, as the manner he was used to from Fulcrum and Pound members. She sounded concerned, and maybe a little understanding.

"I've betrayed my country," said Brook. "And I don't even know if my sister is alive." He fell back onto the bed, arms splayed and stared at the ceiling.

"You've done everything we've asked," said Jill. "We may be mercenaries, but we aren't unreasonable. However, if your man failed, then I can hardly promise anything. Do you expect him to fail?"

Brook didn't answer her question. "You're American," he said. "Right?"

"Technically, yes, I was born in the States," said Jill.

"What does that mean?" asked Brook, exasperated.

Jill sat down on the other bed, choosing her words carefully. "Well, sometimes the country of one's birth isn't always the one who treats one with the most respect. Sometimes every man has to find his own country and people." She paused. "Hoards of people immigrate to the United States every day looking for more and better life, why can't it work the other way around?"

"So you chose Russia?" asked Brook.

"The Pound may consist mostly of people with Russian origin," said Jill, "but they are Russian the way I am American."

"I don't get it," said Brook. "I've read your file. You didn't have a hard childhood. Good parents, educated at Stanford. Job offers before your senior year. What happened?"

Jill shrugged. 'Does anything really have to happen?"

"Yes," said Brook. "Something has to happen to alter your loyalty."

"You seemed easy enough to persuade," said Jill.

Brook sat bolt upright and pointed a finger at her. "Do not…do not think I did this lightly. The only thing more important than God and country is family; and since my country cannot help me, I have chosen my own means of preservation."

Jill clapped once. "And how many times did you rehearse that?"

Brook frowned. "That wasn't rehearsed, that is my belief."

"Well, your beliefs are outdated. Don't get me wrong, your country cannot help you at this point, but neither can—"

"Whatever it is you think you are going to accomplish, Ms, Roberts, you won't succeed," said Brook, interrupting Jill before she could utter abhorrent blasphemy. "You can't just _kill_ Chuck Bartowski. Do you have any idea how well protected he is? And not just body guards, agents, and surveillance teams, but other mechanisms as well."

Jill scoffed, then smirked. "You mean the Intersect?" She laughed. "Don't worry, we've taken care of that."

Brook's mouth hung open slightly. Clearly he had not realized The Pound was aware that Chuck was the Intersect. It had been news to him that such a person even existed when he took this job not two months ago. Jill stood up and walked over to the table where the TV sat. The television was off, and she seemed to hardly acknowledge its presence. From her purse she removed a small device that looked and functioned like a well-oiled BlackBerry. She held it up.

"We've got Chuck under lock and key," she said, clicking her tongue. She seemed to be extremely proud of this fact. She turned the small device on and there was a steady blinking orange light that made a sound every couple seconds. "We know where Chuck is at all times."

"You put a tracer on him?" asked Brook. "How?"

Jill scoffed. "Tracer. You CIA and your low-tech ways. Don't you know anything about computers?"

Brook's face turned deep brown and he felt as though the woman's mask of care had completely fallen away now. She felt offended that Brook thought so little of her and was going to prove him wrong.

"I know a lot about computers," said Brook evenly. "What has that got to do with tracing Chuck?"

"Because Chuck _is_ a computer," said Jill. "His brain literally has a computer in it. And since your CIA designed it, we thought you would have known, we thought that's why you sent him to Rio." She smiled again, her sweet smile positively dripping with pride and ridicule. "But apparently not."

"As you well know, Ms. Roberts, the CIA like many organizations does not put all its cards into one hand," said Brook, angrily. "Not only does that destabilize the entire game, but it puts too much emphasis on one person, when what makes us great is the symbiosis of a multitude of loyal individuals." He grunted. "That being said, I'm sure you can think of half a dozen things you've only been made aware of in the past 24 hours." He leaned forward. "As Chuck's ex-girlfriend, were you aware that he was going to be the victim of an assassination attempt?"

Jill looked away. "Attempt?" she asked, deflecting the chide remark.

"Yes, attempt," said Brook. "Because Chuck Bartowski is a remarkable Intersect. He exceeded the performance level of any agent in CIA history. He has set countless records and accomplished unbelievable feats. He is a combination of intellect and superb natural talent. The Intersect makes him unstoppable."

Jill smiled again. "Yes, that may be so. But Chuck now has a virus in his Intersect, and an intricate one at that. Not only has it put a permanent marker on his computer-brain, but it has given us access to one of the CIA's major mainframes. We will soon have access to all that Chuck knows."

"But you've ordered his assassination!" said Brook. "He will be dead! How can you retrieve your information with a dead man?"

Jill rolled her eyes. "The virus will be released the moment Chuck's brain stops and the Intersect powers down." She put her BlackBerry back into her purse. "The information the virus has retrieved will open up the gateway to all of the CIA's databases."

Brook felt numbness spread over him. "Chuck let you go," said Brook. "We all know he did. We intercepted the ring that was sent to his old apartment. We know he gave it to you and we know he let you go. And this is how you repay him?"

Jill twitched.

"I also know you're telling me all this because you're going to kill me," said Brook, quietly. "You would never have revealed all that to me if you were going to let me go. Just promise me…just promise me that my sister will live."

Jill turned toward the window. She looked out across L.A., the tall buildings like the trees of a deep forest. The people below them were ants that had no idea what the leaves of their giant neighbors knew. She leaned her head against the window and let the cool glass calm her nerves. This was the moment, she knew, that would define her for the rest of her life.

"I'm not going to kill you," said Jill, softly. She turned and walked back to the dark man, whose face was wrought with unbridled fear. "Because not too long ago someone did give me a second chance, and I was unable to alter my inevitable end from the set of circumstances I was given." She crossed her arms and maintained her position about five feet away from the much older man. "I do not envy you. And if you ever pity me, I will kill you. I am who I am not because I chose to be this person, this is just the role I play in our story, here. I can't change it."

Brook hesitated, then got slowly to his feet. "How can you be so sure?" he asked, cautiously. "You did send the ring back after all."

"People can have good intentions without being good themselves," said Jill. "You should know that."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying…" Jill said, whipping her hair around her shoulder. "They do not expect a lot out of me. I am disposable to 90 percent of my superiors. They will believe you overpowered me."

"And the guards outside the door?"

Jill shook her head. "It's just us."

Brook took a step backward. Jill did not move. He took another step backward and Jill turned away from him and walked back to the window. In another moment, she heard the door click and footsteps pattering away down the hall.

Her BlackBerry beeped, just then. She removed it from her purse. Chuck's dot had begun to move. She looked at the clock. It was 7:30 a.m. The kill should have happened over an hour ago.

"Damn," she said, resigned. "The assassination failed."

* * *

The first hour of their escape spent in the basement of a nearby meat market, waiting for the streets to become more heavily focused on the hospital than the outlying neighbors. The small band of rogues quickly got out of the city once news crews began filing onto the scene. Casey hotwired a large, family van and all six piled in. The fit was tight, but as Chuck was squeezed in the back between Sarah and his sister, he hardly noticed. Paul sat in the front next to Casey, burrowed in fear. His once confident demeanor had been shaken, and his faith in the organization that had trained him so well was unraveling like a small string being pulled from a sweater.

The first leg of the journey was difficult. Ellie demanded knowing everything about everything, and it took a great deal of explanation and apologizing, and continuously returning to previous stories to fill in extra details. Ellie and Dr. Titus, and even Devon from time to time, were hanging onto every word of their story.

The status of Chuck and Sarah's relationship forced some clarification. Although Ellie seemed to understand the predicament, and was sympathetic to their situation, Chuck couldn't help but see the deep look of hurt that had formed on his sister's face.

Telling the story aloud, the whole story, from beginning to end, felt quite surreal to Chuck. Parts of it made him feel ashamed of his own weaknesses, but during those parts of the story, he saw a look on Ellie's face of familiarity, of seeing something in him that she knew amidst all this unfamiliarity. Sarah corrected him from time to time, when his stories concerned more how he perceived a situation as a captive, rather than the feats they accomplished as a team.

One of the best parts about telling Ellie the full story was letting her know who their father really was, his heroism and involvement in the Intersect project. Chuck explained how their father had been captured and, even to the point of death, was only concerned about granting Chuck's wish of getting the Intersect out of his head.

"Yet you downloaded the new one anyway," said Ellie, a small smirk on her face. She wasn't asking; it was like she understood.

Chuck shrugged. "The only other options were destroying it forever or letting the enemy get it." He glanced at Sarah. "I wanted to be normal again, so much, but it finally struck me what everyone had been telling me from the beginning. I can do this because of where my loyalties are. Not to mention my kick-ass partners. Geez, El, if it weren't for Sarah and Casey, I'd be dead from day one."

Sarah smiled and rested her head on his shoulder. "And if it weren't for you, all those bad guys would have succeeded, leaving a lot more dead."

From the driver's seat, Casey remained stoic and silent, driving fast, straight out of California. It wasn't until Las Vegas that they stopped for nourishment and to look for a different car.

Chuck leaned against the van while Casey, Devon, Paul, and Dr. Titus went to a nearby dealership. Ellie wanted to go get food for everyone, and Chuck insisted Sarah accompany her. She didn't look like she wanted to leave him, but knowing Ellie needed help, she obliged.

The city was in the midst of normal life. Nearly 2 p.m., it seemed like What Happens Here, Stays Here was busy getting at it. The buzz and excitement of the streets lulled him into deep thought as he began to more closely examine the new information he was aware of, as well as all that he had told Ellie about his life over the last three years.

Across the street from where they'd parked, an electronics store, that reminded him of a dingy Buy More, had nearly a dozen televisions in the window all playing the news. He pushed himself off the van and crossed the street to go get a better look. He had enough foresight to know that, eventually, there had to be something about the hospital situation.

He stood in front of the windows, arms crossed, letting his eyes move from screen to screen. The Intersect was working furiously, providing him with irrelevant information and more, in fact, than he actually required. It was beginning to get out of hand. He used to have much greater control over how it behaved and when it could open up information; now it seemed to be working constantly, whether he was concentrating or not.

The weirdest part about it was the feeling like he knew things before they completely registered. Information from somewhere had told him who Dr. Titus was before they'd been introduced. And not just his name and profession, but detailed medical and education records, his philanthropy and involvement with hospitals in third world countries. Things he probably didn't talk about, but were, evidently, kept as a record somewhere.

The other thing that struck him was the difference the Intersect _felt_ while processing all this data. Sometimes it felt like it was telling him things on the spot, like an annoying and incessant know-it-all talking constantly during new experiences. Other times it felt like he was taking something, like the information was being added to what already existed in the Intersect. Those were the things he remembered the most. When he looked at the gas station sign, he could recall, like a distant memory suddenly repeated to him, the people involved in its development and its current involvement in world affairs.

Through all of this, he still could not seem to discern the importance of it all. Was this new behavior of the Intersect simply the way it developed? Did he have to learn how to control it? Or was there something bigger at play? Something working against him?

He continued to watch the televisions. Trying to relax his mind and just enjoy a minute of pure nothingness. The sports highlights began to play and he smiled, remembering the simple pleasures of life and how they could be such reliefs during stressful times.

The Lakers won their game last night against the Heat. Kobe, of course, with another incredible feat of athleticism, pulled off a game-winning three-point shot in the final twenty seconds. Chuck smiled, and he could feel his heart beat watching the final minute of the game.

"Now why can't the Intersect allow me to do that?" he said, aloud but to himself.

"Whassthat?" asked a voice beside him.

He turned and looked at a much older man, standing next to him staring at the screens as well. He was thin around the face and neck, had an expanding belly, but rather skinny legs. His beard was shaven close to his face and he wore a green cap that had a recycle logo in white.

"I said…" said Chuck, thinking quickly. "Why can't I do that?"

The man flicked a hand at the screen. "This is twentieth century basketball we're talking about here, young man."

Chuck laughed. "Why does that change anything?"

The man threw up his hands. "Because it's all a conspiracy! They are actors and we are all fools. The government has been brainwashing us with television boxes and this show of athletes and news and fake doctors. Just like the moon landing." He laughed maniacally. "Man? Walking on the moon? I'll believe it when _I_ do it."

Chuck shrugged. "Even if it is acting, it still takes quite a bit of skill." He looked back at the monitors.

The old man stepped closer to Chuck and leaned his head in. Chuck could smell the stale stench of alcohol soaked into the man's clothes. The man's eyes darted around. "The next thing you know," he said, smacking his lips, behind which were very few teeth, "they'll be downloading things into our brains! They will tell us what we need to know and when. They will make us robots!"

The old man laughed maniacally as he walked away. Chuck frowned, wondering how people got to be like that. Though his stomach tightened at the irony of the man's comments.

Then the screens flickered, interrupted by random static. He stepped back and looked at them all. They all seemed to have the same strange effect, occurring at different intervals. Then it stopped, as quickly as it set on.

* * *

"How are you doing with all this?" asked Sarah, following Ellie into the nearest supermarket. They both grabbed baskets.

Ellie shook her head. "It is so much to take in," she admitted. "But…I was kind of prepared. Not for what happened at the hospital, of course." She bit her tongue and looked at Sarah. "Remember when I told you that I had driven to Chuck's to confront him, only to find that he wasn't home?"

"Yes," said Sarah.

"Well, while I was there, I began snooping around," she said, embarrassed. "I don't snoop. I just never saw the point. Chuck never hid anything from me, ever! But he's been so weird lately, and Devon has been so…distant. Anyway, I found Chuck's CIA badge, some passports and guns in his sock drawer."

Sarah stopped walking. "He keeps that stuff in his sock drawer?"

Ellie shook her head. "When I pulled out the drawer, I could hear things rattling around at the bottom."

"I told him so many times not to leave his stuff in a sock drawer," said Sarah, frowning. "That's the first place everyone looks."

Ellie smiled. "It's nice to know Chuck is still Chuck."

Sarah smiled, too. "Yeah, I suppose it is." They walked in silence for a couple moments. Sarah mostly followed Ellie, helping her choose appropriate travel foods and grabbing select things for Chuck she knew he'd appreciate.

"I'm sorry, by the way," said Sarah, when they finally came to stand in line at the check out.

Ellie raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

Sarah shrugged. "For a lot of things. For getting Chuck so involved with this, for forcing him to lie to you. For lying to you directly." She gave Ellie a grim smile. "We are trained to get so wrapped up in our false identities that we want everyone else to feed it, too."

"Sarah," said Ellie, her expression very soft and forgiving. "I could never…I can't blame you for this. This is something no one expects to happen, or be a part of. You do important work, and Chuck finally has a place in this world."

Sarah nodded. "That he does."

"Can I admit something?" asked Ellie, biting her tongue. She set her basket on the conveyor belt, and Sarah did likewise.

"Sure," said Sarah.

"I'm glad you two didn't get married," she said. Sarah looked at her. Ellie's face was hopeful and glistening with excitement. "I really want to be a part of that when it happens." She put up her hands before Sarah could say anything. "I realize you are probably not the most conventional bride, and you probably have your own way of doing things, but, Sarah, I can only understand now how important you are to my brother. If I didn't get to be a part of it, in any shape or form, I would be very sad."

Sarah smiled. "I figured you would say something like that," she said, sighing. "But it's okay. Chuck hasn't proposed or anything, we're not…" she took a deep breath, "we're not there yet."

Ellie nodded, grinning. "Yeah, okay."

When they returned to the place the van had been parked, a new slightly bigger van sat in its place. This one had more the appearance of a delivery truck and, indeed, when the girls climbed in the back, Casey had already set up a small surveillance center, comprised of a few things he could get from the Large Mart a few blocks down.

"Just for the basics," he said to Sarah. "I hid a camera on all four sides."

"Where is Chuck?" asked Sarah. They had set the food down in one corner. Paul was leaning against a wall, still distraught.

"He's watching the TVs across the street," said Casey. "Devon and Dr. Titus joined him just a minute ago."

Sarah got out of the van and crossed the street to join the men. They were watching silently, and as Sarah approached, she found out why.

"Police have not been able to find the armed gunmen who entered Westside Hospital this morning," said the news reporter, Carla Jennings of LANN news. "But our sources inside the hospital say at least one patient and three doctors are missing. We are trying to obtain visuals for these individuals, all over the age of 25, so that the public can be aware they might be in danger. The CIA's unusual presence in Burbank has the hospital talking. Let's go to Jim, who is standing outside the hospital at this time. Jim?"

"Thanks Carla," said Jim. The scene switched to a young man standing outside the hospital. "We have confirmed at least one of the three doctors who is missing." A picture of Dr. Titus came up on the screen. "Dr. Anthony Titus, a specialist in endocrinology, has not been seen since the CIA entered the building. We also believe that one of the other two doctors missing was a patient here for some time."

The four of them looked at each other, Dr. Titus's face turned pale white.

"We've got to move," said Sarah. "Let's go, back to the van." Dr. Titus didn't need telling twice. He hurried back across the street and was the first one in the van. Devon and Sarah climbed in next, followed by Chuck.

When Chuck got into the van and shut the doors, the monitor Casey was sitting in front of flickered and scrambled.

"Devon, I need you to drive," said Casey. "There is a map in the driver's side pocket. Our route is simple and easy, but you need to drive fast. Not crazy fast, intelligent fast."

Devon nodded. He and Dr. Titus climbed into the front and got them moving.

Casey stood up and walked to Chuck, who had sat down against the side of the van. He felt like he'd been in this situation too many times, lately. Always on the run, always moving.

"Chuck, there is something I need to tell you," said Casey.

Chuck repositioned himself on the ground, alarmed by the look in Casey's eyes and the intonation of his voice. The intensity of his gaze left no doubt that the man was going to lay something very heavy on him. He felt himself go pale. The truck took a wide turn and Sarah, Ellie, and Casey decided to sit as well. There were some blankets covering the floor of the truck for some padding.

"May I interject momentarily?" asked Ellie. Chuck and Casey looked at one another, then at her. She decided to continue. "Where are we going?

Chuck frowned. He was sure he had told her. "We're going to see Dad," said Chuck.

Ellie cocked her head. "You know where he is?"

Chuck shrugged. "I have an advantage," he said. "Dad left behind a series of clues for me to trace, so I am 95 percent sure that he is where we are going."

"95 percent?" said Casey, growling. "So there is a 5 percent chance we are driving 22 hours for nothing?"

"22 hours!" said Ellie. "Where are we going, Chuck? Where's Dad?"

"Chester, Montana," said Chuck. "He built a cabin up there after he left. That's where his primary base is."

Ellie was silent, and backed out of the conversation.

"Casey, what do you need to tell Chuck?" asked Sarah, urgently.

Casey looked at her for a moment, evidently trying to decide how much to say or how to say something.

"The change of command is positive at the Amulet," said Casey, finally. "I still hold true to that. There was an immediate investigation when I returned because Brook threw a fit and went insane that you hadn't returned, but when they learned you were as close as Westside being treated, he locked me up and went AWOL."

"Who is the new man in charge?" asked Chuck. Sarah looked away, back at the monitor screens. He found that odd, since they had nearly reached the outskirts of the city and a select few cars accompanied them out.

"It's a woman, actually," said Casey. "The woman who ran the base at Rio. Apparently, she's been in on the Intersect project for a while and was, undoubtedly, the best candidate for the job."

"You know her? Met with her in Rio?" asked Chuck.

"Yes," said Casey. "I worked with her back in our Marine days. She was a liaison between the CIA and the International Marine Corps, those of us stationed overseas for long periods of time in the late 80s, and I interacted with her periodically while training with the NSA." He stared at him directly and said, very sincerely. "She's a really good person Chuck, we can trust her."

Chuck nodded. "I trust you, Casey. So is that what you wanted to tell me?"

Casey shook his head. "I told you that because she came to me with very direct information, something irrefutable."

Chuck blinked. "Okay...whatever it is, you can tell me."

Casey sighed. "You have a virus."

Chuck raised an eyebrow. "What? Like the flu?"

"He could have picked something up in Rio," said Ellie. "Dengue Fever or a variety of respiratory viruses. It's not that uncommon."

Sarah shook her head. "Chuck has been immunized for months now. Besides, how could he get it and not me or Casey? We were with him the whole time."

Casey held up a hand. "That's not what I meant." He pulled a small piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it, laying it flat on the ground. "The weapon that I was sent to intercept from The Pound is called the Herring. The model that we studied in Rio were the ones officially sanctioned by Brook to grab, but I was given a different mission, which I am sure you realize by now."

Both Chuck and Sarah nodded, but kept their eyes glued to Casey.

"Well, this weapon, the Herring, is far more dangerous than the CIA ever realized," said Casey. "It was supposed to be a much more destructive version of the electronic impulse weapons, possessing the ability to knock out and tap into a secure network." He pointed at the design. "What this intel fails to mention, what the Intersect does not contain, is that the weapon actually fires a virus, a computer virus, that electronically cancels out the normal route of garbage collection and diverts it to another source, meanwhile gaining access to any other database it comes into contact with."

Chuck felt numb as he leaned over the sheet of paper to examine it. Once again, the familiar handwriting on the paper struck a chord with him and he touched it, as though by doing so it would speak to him.

"And by garbage collection, you mean automatic memory deallocation, right?" said Chuck, swallowing hard.

"Wait, what?" asked Sarah. She had slid closer to Chuck. "Memory deallocation?"

Chuck continued to stare at the diagram. "It's a programming term," he said, "for the way a program is designed to deal with the resources that pass through its memory. At any one point, the memory never needs to access it all at once, so it essentially gathers what isn't being used and reclaims their position to use elsewhere."

"I don't get it," said Ellie.

Chuck shook his head. "It means that this virus is designed to _be_ the garbage collector for whatever it infects, this virus finds a way to manage all the disposed data." He looked up at Casey. "Does this mean someone is leaking information out of the Intersect?"

Casey shrugged. "We don't know for sure. We do know that you are showing signs of having been infected, and because of that, we need to encrypt your information."

"Or take it out completely," said Chuck. "That's what we're going to do anyway, get my Dad to take it out."

"Chuck…" said Sarah, reaching to touch his knee.

"No," said Chuck, firmly, "this thing has been a plague on our lives long enough. It's put too many people in danger and no one is worth that!"

"Chuck, think about this for a moment," said Casey, "think about everything you know about computers and viruses and infections. Think about the very first bomb you ever diffused."

"Chuck diffused a bomb?" asked Ellie, leaning forward. All three of the agents looked around at her. Had they forgotten the very first mission Chuck had ever completed? "Later, tell me later," she said, raising her hands and realizing her question had come at a very inopportune moment.

"I don't know what you're saying, Casey. That by removing the Intersect we'd be removing my hard drive? That any attempts to remove the virus would be detrimental to my brain? The Intersect isn't my brain, it's just my brain…reformatted."

"Oh my gosh," said Sarah, shaking her head. She had her eyes closed.

"No, Chuck, I am saying that removing the Intersect at this stage, with the virus still intact, may cause more than just the Intersect to be removed. Your brain and the way it functions may still exist exactly like it did before, but your memory would be wiped clean."

"But human memory and computer memory exist on two very different planes," said Chuck. "I don't know much about the way humans store memory, to be frank, and the Intersect doesn't have a lot on that, but I do know computer memory…and I've never heard of…"

Casey put up his hand again. "It is impossible to tell at this point," the Colonel said, authoritatively. "My orders are to remove the virus and the virus _only_. You have a highly classified piece of intelligence in your brain, there is no way we are just going to let you take it out again."

"Casey…" said Sarah, shocked. "You can't possibly mean…"

"Sarah, hand me that bag right behind you," said Casey, interrupting her pointedly.

Sarah looked behind her and reached for it. She held onto it for a moment before handing it to him. "I shouldn't be giving this to you, should I?"

Casey didn't reply directly. "This is the only way we can travel in secret."

From the bag, Casey removed a small device with wires coming off it. It looked crudely assembled, but essentially it appeared to be a taser with electrodes stemming off of it. Chuck cringed and recoiled toward the wall. "No, no, no, no. Wait, Casey, there has got to be a better option."

Casey shook his head. "There's not, Chuck, and your dad will be able to explain why. This will hurt," he said. He placed an electrode on each of Chuck's temples, then charged the taser. "See you in a couple hours," Casey whispered. Chuck's eyes were wide with fear when Casey pressed the button.

Chuck convulsed on the ground and Sarah, Ellie, and Paul were all on their feet, shocked by what they were seeing.

"Are you out of your mind?" Ellie screeched.

"Casey, what on earth warranted that?" asked Sarah, grabbing his arm.

Casey stood up. "We have reason to believe that the virus acts as a sort of electronic data source. Even though there is no evidence that the Intersect is leaking information, there is still a possibility of it containing a trace signature. The Pound knows about the Intersect, which means they have access to how to control, trace, or monitor the virus."

"Jill?" asked Sarah.

Casey nodded. "Agent…" he started his thought, but his eyes drifted toward Ellie, wondering about her familiarity with her mother's life after she left the small family. "The agent we met with in Rio tracked Jill's disappearance after they discovered the ring was returned to Chuck."

Sarah frowned. "I don't understand how Jill could do that, after all Chuck did for her."

"Wait, Jill? As in Jill Roberts? Chuck's ex-girlfriend? She is involved in all this?" asked Ellie. Sarah looked at her, once again resolved to the fact that even in the four-hour trip to Las Vegas, Chuck had still not managed to cover all the aspects of their previous missions.

"Ellie, you will come to realize that everyone is connected in our world," said Sarah. "There are too many parallels that we cannot draw on the fly. I know you've got a lot of questions, but please just wait. Okay?" Ellie nodded and swallowed hard. Sarah tried to smile, but it came across as a harried grimace. She turned back to Chuck, who was now unconscious on the ground. She knelt beside him and with Casey's help, moved him back onto the blankets.

Before she could ask, Casey began to explain. "The only thing that can interrupt the transmission of the tracer is a strong electric impulse," he explained. "The CIA wasn't able to tap into the virus's signal before we left the hospital, but we hypothesized that by interrupting the signal enough, we can make it weaker."

"At what cost?" asked Sarah, leaning against the side of the truck. "He has been through the wringer, Casey."

Casey nodded. "I know." He looked at Ellie. "Look, I know this is hard to grasp, but you've got to think realistically here."

Ellie burst out laughing. It was maniacal and hysterical. Shocked, Sarah and Casey could do nothing but stare at her until she settled down. Between gasps of air, Ellie managed to squeeze out a question: "Think…realistically?" She dried her eyes from the laughter, which was slowly turning to tears. "There are a hundred…things I've learned today that make thinking realistically sound like something that happened in the 1800s." She sat down again.

Casey ignored her and turned back to Sarah. His voice became low, much lower than usual. And though he held an air of sounding cautious, his words were very direct. "Everything we've witnessed of Chuck's behavior over the last week, can you really see him surviving long term?"

Sarah looked up at him, dumbfounded. "Are you seriously saying what I think you're saying?"

Casey nodded. "Chuck's brain cannot handle this. No one's can. It was barely surviving with the new Intersect, let alone the virus that's there now."

"But Mr. Bartowski will be able to help, won't he? If he can get it out…" said Sarah, grasping for any hope.

Casey shrugged. "In theory, yes. But how long will it take for him to develop a new antithesis to the Intersect? I am not trying to be crass, here, ladies, but you've really got to start preparing yourself for the possibility that he may not make it passed this hurdle."

* * *

Five hours later….

Chuck was still unconscious. Sarah wasn't an expert on the human body, but she did know that the average person did not react like this to a neuron-muscular electrical current. The longest she'd ever seen someone knocked out was five minutes, and that was even worrisome. Chuck had been out for five hours now.

Next to her, Ellie and Devon sat together. Ellie was resting her head against Devon's shoulder, and he was fast asleep against the wall. Ellie was staring at Sarah, who still held Chuck's head in her lap. She seemed to realize someone was looking at her, and looked up and made eye contact with Ellie.

Sarah gave her a half smile. "I'm sorry I snapped at you," she said, swallowing what she could to relieve the scratchiness of her voice.

Ellie sat up and crawled closer to her. "Sarah, I understand that I won't know everything for a long time," she said, evenly, "but I am so scared. For all of us, yeah, but mostly for Chuck."

"I am not going to let anything happen to him," said Sarah, confidently.

"No offense, Sarah, but from the way Casey described it, it doesn't sound like you have much control over it," said Ellie.

Sarah looked up at the driver's seat, where Casey had taken over the wheel. Paul sat in the seat next to him, and Dr. Titus was sleeping against another wall. The truck was bouncing and heaving through the foothills of the Emigration Canyon, outside of Salt Lake City. Sarah knew Casey was attempting to take the most complicated route to their destination, but she wasn't sure if this truck was meant to handle such a terrain.

There were a lot of things that weren't making sense in Chuck's regard. She still couldn't get over the look of pure, frozen horror that had been on his face when Paul had him backed up against the wall in the hospital. Why hadn't he flashed? She'd seen him get out of much worse situations than that. And now, with this extended period of unconsciousness, it was as though his brain really was deteriorating due to the virus.

"We have more control than you think," said Sarah, smiling at Ellie. Though there were spasms of doubt that made her sick to her stomach from time to time, Sarah knew that it wasn't just a coincidence that she'd been paired with Chuck in the beginning. Not saying fate was involved, no, Sarah did not believe fate was a factor; but it had to be the universe's way of correcting an error in its methodology. While nature tended to keel under the pressure of much more forceful aspects of itself, and of man's, it also adapts to changes and resolves conflicts from within its own composition.

Ellie frowned. "What do you mean?"

Sarah felt her face grow warm, and consequently looked down at Chuck. "Chuck is emotional, and so many times it has gotten in the way of him using the Intersect properly. The new one is much stronger and his emotions don't override it as often, but you can still see the strong ones affect him."

"Like what?" asked Ellie.

"Like when Paul had his gun pointed at him," said Sarah. "He was so afraid, so sure Paul was going to pull the trigger, that even though the Intersect probably told him what to do, he just couldn't react to it." She paused. "And other things, but that is one you'd know."

Ellie nodded thoughtfully. "You said before that he could just sit and read something and download a bunch of information, _and_ retain it all." Sarah nodded in confirmation. "Is it possible to…I don't know….not remove that information, but refresh it?"

Sarah shut her eyes. "Bryce was the expert on the Intersect," she said. "The way it worked, the mechanics behind it. After he died, a lot of the original designs died with him."

Ellie shook her head. "I still can't believe Bryce was CIA all along."

Sarah looked at her. "I was in love with him at one point," she admitted. "Not the way I love Chuck, but I definitely cared about him deeply."

Ellie cocked her head. "That doesn't surprise me. Bryce was a great friend to Chuck, right up until he, from all outward appearances, betrayed him." She clicked her tongue. "But what does all that have to do with controlling the Intersect?"

Sarah took a deep breath. "If we can get Chuck off his guard, or get him extremely emotional, we might be able to expose the Intersect to the problem. From what Casey and I have learned about the new Intersect's original designs, we know that it has self-preservation mechanisms. Not exactly like anti-virus software, but a more complex facet of error-checking, in order to keep itself from overloading."

"But you said that Chuck _is_ overloading," said Ellie.

"Yes, but he's also performing remarkably well," said Sarah. "This Intersect was designed as a test so that one day we can equip soldiers with everything they might need in combat. Chuck is not a soldier. His CIA training came after he'd been an _analyst_, if you will, for the better part of two years. He wasn't trained properly before downloading it, so it already created a very open environment before he was trained to use it."

"I suppose I can make parallels to that," said Ellie. "So how do we force it to see the virus?"

Sarah shook her head. "I honestly have no idea. If Paul couldn't draw it out of him, I'm not sure what kind of shock could. But I'm hoping your dad with have some insight."

"And there's no chance we're being followed?" asked Ellie.

"There's a 99.9 percent chance we're being followed," said Sarah. "The problem is, they don't know where we're going. The Pound is calculated, as is Jill. They won't make a move until they understand _our_ end game."

* * *

Jill paced around the interior of Irina's plane. The spacious passenger hold was not quite large enough to have even a small woman pacing, but she could not sit down.

"You are making me agitated," said Irina, abruptly. "Why don't you sit down and have a drink?"

"Why aren't we just following them?" asked Jill. "We have their general course."

"We do not have enough information," said Irina. "We know they traveled through Las Vegas, but the degree of change after we lost the signal could be great and our error of travel be costly. We have a plane, they have a automobile. This is where we can afford to be patient."

"We were so close," said Jill, finally sitting down. She slumped back into her chair. "He was in our grasp."

"The CIA is comprised of fools," said Irina, scornfully. "We should not be surprised."

Jill sat forward. "What doesn't make sense, Irina, is that you seem to have expected this all along. It's like you never expected the CIA to assassinated Chuck."

Irina gave a sharp bark of laughter and set down her book. "Of course not," she said, condescendingly. "If we murder the Intersect, we cannot regain the virus with all of the new information it has stolen. Why would we want to murder him?"

"But you instructed Agent Brook to send out an assassin," said Jill. "What was the point of that?"

"To drive out the CIA," said Irina. "We aren't just looking to gain the virus, we're looking to make an example of their methods and the way they handle their agents. If the world knew that Chuck Bartowski had been given all of the secrets of the CIA and NSA, a man that had been kicked out of Stanford for cheating, who spent the last 5 years working at a Burbank Buy More and living with his sister and her sister's boyfriend…"

"…husband," Jill corrected.

"Whatever," said Irina, continuing. "It's a laugh. The American public will be in an outrage, the CIA will be investigated and will most likely have to stop its extracurricular activities. Not only will we regain the virus—and maybe even the Intersect itself—but we can cripple the strongest international force for counter-terrorism in the world." She picked up the phone next to her seat and dialed a number. "We will check on how our own research into this Intersect is going. If we are lucky, we might gain just enough intel on how to steal it out of Chuck's brain before leaving here," she said to Jill.

Just then, the monitor on the far wall began to beep. The women looked at each other and stood up, Irina left the phone on her seat while a voice called to her from the other end. They walked to the monitor and examined the screen.

HERRING TEST SUBJECT 1.0.9221 DETECTED  
CALCULATING COORDINATES…

"The virus is back online," said Jill. "What could have done that?"

"Only a full system shut down," said Irina. "Which I am not quite sure translates into a possibility for the human body."

"Electrical current," said Jill immediately. "Straight to the neural passageways."

"But it's been out for nearly ten hours," said Irina.

"Where are they?" asked Jill.

Irina plugged the coordinates the tracking system gave her into a map. "In the mountains of southern Montana. The signal is very weak, look how it filters in and out like that? It means that they are at an altitude of over 6000 feet."

"That seems rather inefficient," said Jill, disdainfully.

"It's a computer virus, sweetheart. Never did we dream it could affect the human brain." Her eyes glimmered with possibilities and Jill's stomach turned over. For the first time in weeks, she wondered if she would have been better off running. There had been no sign of Agent Brook, thus far, and it was entirely possible he'd made a clean break. But this is The Pound they were dealing with. Jill was in too deep for them to just write her off as a runaway. At least Brook would be dealt with as a traitor, she thought. He'd be safe in the custody of the United States government.

Then she laughed bitterly. Irina turned to her, smiling with pride, as though her little protégé was finally seeing the end game she had seen all along.

Jill still didn't know. Her mind was plagued in doubt. But it was too late to get out of all of it, wasn't it?


	18. Chester, MT

Chuck vs. the Virus

Chapter 17: Chester, MT

Chuck felt better than he had since Rio. His body felt refreshed, though he had a tinge of a headache, but overall he was surprised at how much more control he felt he had. There was no real reason he should be more in control now than prior to the taser that fried his brain, but it was almost as though the virus had eased up a bit, that some pressure had been taken off.

He and Sarah were standing on a large outpouring on the side of Bear Mountain, somewhere in southwestern Montana, overlooking Bison Creek and the I-15 that runs straight through the mountains. Casey had roughly guided the large truck through the most dangerous terrain, but undoubtedly the safest, in comparison to what the group could be facing at this time.

About an hour ago, they had picked up a radio signal for the local news channel and were shocked and amazed to hear how quickly the news of what had happened at Westside Hospital spread in ten hours. The police had identified the other three missing persons, who were Drs. Woodcomb and Chuck himself. Sarah had not been on the missing persons list. Casey speculated that the CIA was allowing this information to spread to maximize the amount of time they had to find Mr. Bartowski, figure out a virus-extraction protocol, and radio for extraction.

Chuck had declined the offer to walk deeper into Beaverhead National Forest with the other men. They all had needed to stretch their legs and, since they hadn't passed anyone in over four hours, Casey had determined this as the safest place to do just that. Ellie had detoured somewhere close by to relieve her bladder, and that left Chuck and Sarah staring out over the vastness of mountain peaks, tall trees, birds, and open sky.

He wrapped an arm around her and drew her in; likewise, she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him. "It's so beautiful out here," he said, barely above a whisper. "It really brings you back to the simplicity of life…how it all should be."

"Life before the chaos," said Sarah. "All at once it makes me think this is what we see every day, and that we never see this at all. An unfamiliar familiarity."

Chuck drew in a deep breath. "It's intoxicating."

"Is this what you want your life to be like?" asked Sarah, tilting her head to look up at him.

"For the longest time, I didn't know what I wanted," said Chuck, resigned. "I was lost, without direction, making excuses for myself. Year after year I didn't realize I was just denying the crap that had happened to me." He took another deep breath. "But this…if nothing else, this feeling really makes it all clear."

"What do you mean?" asked Sarah.

"We spend our days hunting down enemies that could destroy and eliminate everything we know," said Chuck, still staring out over the scenery. "Looking out over this all, I can't tell whether I am proud to be part trying to protect it or if I am absurd not to take the time to enjoy this more often."

"Does it make you want to quit?"

Chuck laughed. "Yes. And no, of course."

Sarah smiled and leaned her head against him again. "Yeah, I know what you mean. I guess I can thank my father for the career path, and thank him for never having the option to enjoy something like this." Her tone was bitter, with the emphasis of attempting a light-airy nonchalance. He rubbed her arm. "You know I've actually begun to really think of myself as Sarah Walker? It's basically become my identity."

Chuck signed. "Yeah, well, it was bound to happen."

"Perhaps," said Sarah. "Or perhaps that's a sign that something needs to change."

"What? Does it make _you_ want to quit?" Chuck asked, surprised.

"Yes," said Sarah, leaning her head back again. She reached up on her toes and kissed his lips lightly. Smiling broadly, she added: "And no."

Chuck laughed. "Copy cat."

"If it weren't for this job, I would have never met you," said Sarah, softly. "And if I'd never met you, I would never have wanted to quit. And the only reason I would ever quit this job is if I found something, or someone, that I'd rather invest in than this job."

Chuck kissed her forehead. "I love you, too."

"Why does it make you want to quit?" asked Sarah.

"I know it's only been three years," said Chuck. "Barely three years. But for the first time, I have certainties in my life that I never had before this job. There is a lot that is uncertain right now, Sarah, and I know that it is irrational to believe that my own health has gone without damage over the last couple months. But I am certain of a couple things."

"Oh?" she asked, smiling. "Care to share?"

"I would, very much," he said, smacking his lips. He removed his arm from around her. He started breathing harder and felt his pulse speed up. "One: I know that the sun will rise every morning, and set every evening."

Sarah smiled, and rolled her eyes, but he kept going.

"Two: I know that regardless of what happens today, tomorrow, a week from now, ten years from now, I have a sister and a brother-in-law who will forever be in my confidence and will look after me." Her eyebrows raised and he couldn't quite read her expression. She was watching him closely, and curiously, and as though she was trying to decide what he was going to say next.

He swallowed hard and started digging in his pocket. His heart beat faster than he could ever remember. His palms began to sweat and he fumbled like his fingers were three times bigger than normal. She reached over and touched his neck.

"Are you ok, Chuck?" she asked, looking worried. To her, he must have looked like he was getting sick.

"I'm fine," he said, finally getting a handle on the small object in his jeans pocket. He took a deep breath and pulled it out. "And the third thing I am certain of…" he knelt down on one knee, and Sarah's followed his descent. She looked directly down at him, her face frozen in complete surprise. "I am certain that I love you, Sarah Walker, and that I've loved you for such a long time I'm sure I've forgotten what it's like to live without you. You have been with me through very dark times and the times I've grown the most as a man and a person. You hav been the most frustrating, brilliant, beautiful, and stubborn partner a normal guy can have, and yet I cannot seem to go a couple minutes without wanting to tell you how deeply I've fallen for you." He opened his hand. "I've carried this around with me for some time now. And would like to ask you an important question, if you would be so willing."

Sarah closed her eyes for a moment, then tucked the hair behind her ears. Chuck watched her carefully, and she began to look as nervous as he felt. And then, quite quickly, the fear left him. He loved this woman, and he knew this woman loved him. The question had already been answered, not in words, but in action. She was there, right along with him, even though they had not officially came to this crossroad yet. He smiled, the corners of his cheeks lifted his dazzling smile and caused his eyes to sparkle.

He held up the ring between his thumb and index finger. The little diamond, modest and simply cut atop a white gold band, sparkled in the brilliant sunlight. "Sarah Walker, will you marry me?"

From the corner of her eye, a small tear left and traveled down her face. She stepped closer to him, knelt down, and kissed him softly on the lips.

"Is that a yes?" he asked, smiling.

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, yes, yes."

They barely had ten minutes to celebrate their fast engagement together, most of which was spent like the fifteen minutes preceding the proposal, yet in absolute silence. They stood in each other's arms as they looked over the mountains, feeling their hearts beat against one another's chest and thinking about the decision they'd just made.

Chuck held Sarah's left hand, and rubbed her ring finger, smiling inadvertently against her head. She lifted their entwined hands in the sunlight and just gazed at the ring sitting on her hand.

After many minutes of silence, she finally said something. "So is this what you meant in Rio when you said that the ring the CIA chose for me would not be the one you'd have chosen?"

"Yes," said Chuck. "Do you like it?"

"Chuck…I love it, it's perfect," she said, quietly. "It's like…I didn't even know what I'd like until you gave this to me."

"Well that's a relief," said Chuck.

"Did someone help you choose it?" asked Sarah.

"Oh boy," said Chuck, "that is definitely a story for another time. Let's just say there was a lot of Captain Awesome involved and a great deal more of code words, fake names, and excuses." Sarah giggled.

Then they heard voices behind them and they turned, ready for the rest of the gang to intrude on their peace. Ellie had caught up with the other three men and they walked back into sight, looking slightly exhausted, but refreshed none-the-less. As they approached, Ellie and Devon walked toward them, hand in hand. Ellie had an odd look on her face, and Devon's eyes were wide as they flickered between Chuck and Sarah.

"How was your hike?" asked Chuck, grinning from ear to ear.

"Great…" said Ellie, extremely confused. "Chuck, what's going on? Why do you have that goofy grin on your face?"

Sarah's face broadened into an equally big smile, being unable to control it any longer. She looked up at Chuck, and he back at her, then she lifted her hand to show Ellie the ring. Ellie's eyes went so wide Chuck thought they'd pop out of her head.

"Oh my gosh," said Ellie, taking Sarah's hand to examine the ring more closely.

"Congratulations!" said Devon, ecstatic. He hugged Sarah, then Chuck, all three laughing with uncontrollable joy. Ellie started crying and, awkwardly, yet gratefully, Sarah embraced her. Chuck continued to laugh as he rubbed Sarah's back, and after a moment, Ellie released Sarah and threw her arms around Chuck.

"Are you going to be okay, Ellie?" asked Chuck, hugging her tightly.

"I am just so happy," said Ellie. "I don't have any words." She let him go and stepped back. Devon wrapped an arm around her and hugged her. "And it's all a bit overwhelming. I've had less than 24 hours to soak this all in."

Casey took the news well, in a way only Casey could take it. He shook both their hands and said that it was about damn time. Dr. Titus responded with the courtesies and said that in their case, he would over look the lie Sarah had told in order to seep information out of him. All in good humor, of course. Finally, Paul also shook their hands.

"I just wanted to say, Chuck," said Paul shaking Chuck's hand, "that I'm sorry for trying to kill you."

Chuck grasped his hand with both of his. "It's okay, Paul. Thank you for hesitating."

They all filed back into the car, Casey resuming his spot at the wheel. Apparently his marine training had prepared him for long hours behind the wheel of an unstable vehicle. He seemed exhausted, but would not let anyone take over.

The descent back down the mountain to the main road, the one that ran almost parallel to the I-15, yet above and away from it, was scary. The truck kept sliding and forced Casey to come to several complete stops in order to control the vehicle. At one point, all four men had to lift the truck off a rock and almost completely reposition it on the rough road, as the narrow space between the edge of the road and the side of the mountain did not allow for much correction.

As they descended further down the mountain, Chuck felt the pressure return to his head. Sarah had fallen asleep on him as they found normal road, and Ellie and Devon were drifting in and out as well. Chuck kept an arm around Sarah, but leaned his head against the truck wall and tried to calm his mind. Sweat was dripping from his forehead and he felt like he could pass out at any moment.

_Think, Chuck, think!_ He reeled his brain, pushing himself to find an answer to his problem. _This definitely isn't normal. If the Intersect has this much information, can't it have something on how to protect itself?_

His resistance made him tired, and before he knew it, he'd drifted to sleep.

* * *

_It was Chuck's fifth birthday. He was sitting under the dining room table with a superman action figure watching his mom decorate the kitchen. She was humming and working steadily. The table was already set with his choice decorations of super heroes and model airplanes, the cake sat in the midst of small candies, fruit, and sandwiches. Ellie sat in one corner, talking as she tied little party baskets together._

_Chuck held the action figure tightly with his hands. He watched his mother's movements carefully. Every once in a while she would walk back to the counter and cross something off her list while Ellie talked and talked._

_When Ellie had set the last of the party favors on the table, Faye removed her apron and laid it over the back of the chair. She looked around the room, a proud smile on her face. Chuck leaned forward from his hiding spot and watched her. For some reason it scared him the way she looked around, but he couldn't quite tell what it was. When she turned to face the dining room, he hid himself again beneath the cover of the table. It wasn't that he shouldn't be there, he knew, it was his birthday afterall, but there was something nice about being hidden for a time, just observing._

_"Sweetheart, I need to go finish setting up out back," said Faye to Ellie. "Would you like to come help me?"_

_Ellie jumped off her chair and took her mother's hand. "Yes mama. Chuck's gonna love the decorations we got him, isn't he? He loves super heroes and blue and red and those long streamers. When is everyone coming? Are there going to be a lot of people here? When is dad coming home?" Faye sighed, but Chuck rolled his eyes. Ellie talked too much._

_"We still have an hour or two before everyone will be here," said Faye, leading Ellie toward the back door. "And your dad should be home at any time, now. Have you seen your brother recently?"_

_"He was up in his room playing," said Ellie. Their voices faded and disappeared behind the back door._

_Chuck crawled out from under the table and looked around. He loved the way it looked in the dining room. His stomach hurt he was so excited. He walked into the kitchen and admired the food on the table: a large cake with his name across the top, chocolates and candies, fruit and small sandwiches. There were action figures and superheroes intermingled with the food._

_He went to the counter where a large present sat. He was tempted to pick it up and shake it, but he liked surprised, and was generally good at guessing what things were just by feeling them. _

_The piece of paper next to the present caught his eyes. He stretched up on his tip toes, but couldn't see it, so he grabbed it with his little fingers. It was a to-do list in his mother's handwriting. Vaccuum, dust, set up backyard tables, food, and party favors were crossed off the list already._

_

* * *

_

Chuck let out a loud gasp and sat bolt upright. Sarah jumped to a kneeling position and put her hands on Chuck's face. He had gone starkly white and felt the skin crawl along the surface of his muscles. The hair standing on end made him feel so cold he began to shiver. Ellie and Devon hurried over to them as Casey shouted his questions about what was going on from the driver's seat. Dr. Titus answered him in some way, but was moving to join the other doctor's at Chuck's side.

"Sarah, I need you to step back for a moment," said Devon, pulling her away from Chuck. "We need to look at him."

Chuck cringed and held his head in his hands. The pain was increasing so much he let out a scream and nearly kicked Sarah as his muscles gave a sudden spasm. Sarah held onto him firmly, though, and tried to get an answer out of him.

"Chuck, talk to me, what's wrong?" she asked.

"Sarah, really, just let us handle this," said Ellie, also putting a hand on Sarah's arm. Sarah finally let go and stood up, letting the doctors move in.

"Pulse is racing," said Devon.

"BP is really high, too," said Dr. Titus. "His heart is really pumping. We need to relieve the pressure."

"How do we do that?" asked Sarah.

"Let's get him on his feet," said Devon. "His muscles are probably really tight."

Chuck was limp now, but aware. The two men looped Chuck's arm around their necks and helped him to his feet. Ellie opened his lids wide and peered in at his pupils.

"Chuck? What hurts?" asked Ellie, softly. "Tell us what you feel."

"A memory…" said Chuck, closing his eyes. He saw the piece of paper again with his mother's handwriting and that same surge of energy coursed through him. With his arms still around the doctors, he began convulsing again. The grip on his arms became tighter, which made his muscles itch even more.

"What is going on?" asked Sarah. "Chuck, what kind of memory are you having? One of your own?"

Ellie turned to look at Sarah. "What do you mean? What other kind of memory could he be having?"

Sarah shrugged. "Who the hell knows what they put into the Intersect. He could be seeing anything."

The twitching died down again and Chuck, nearly out of breath, was putting too much weight on the doctors for them to hold him up any more. They carefully laid him on his back. Sweat poured from his face and he could literally feel his brain burning.

Then, without any conscious acknowledgement, he felt himself begin to cry. Several tears streamed down his face until the others knew what was happening. Sarah knelt down by his head and touched her thumb to his cheek. Ellie took his hand and Devon and Dr. Titus continued to hover, out of breath, but very concerned.

The tears only lasted a couple moments, and Ellie's careful massage of his hand calmed him down quickly. Finally he opened his eyes.

"The new head of operations…" said Chuck, looking up at Sarah, "it's my mom, isn't it?"

Sarah blinked a couple times and looked up at Ellie, whose face was frozen in shock. She lifted her head to look at Sarah, almost expecting her to look incredulous, but the possibility of truth reflected in Sarah's reaction made Ellie go limp as well. She started to fall backward, releasing all her muscles, but Devon caught her.

"How could you possibly know that, Chuck?" asked Sarah.

"The handwriting," said Chuck. "From the documents in Rio, from the plans Casey was given…they're in my mother's handwriting."

"What was the memory you had?" asked Sarah.

"My fifth birthday," said Chuck. "The last strong memory I have of her before she left."

Ellie reached to touch his hand again. "Oh Chuck…"

"So it's true?" asked Chuck. "She's the new head of operations?"

Sarah swallowed hard, but nodded. "Ye-es. I believe so."

Chuck shut his eyes. He couldn't understand why he was reacting this way, why he was so, overly emotional. There were many things going on inside his head, and at the front of his mind were all the things he'd told himself over the years to justify his mother's reason for leaving. He and Ellie had never really talked about why, though the matter of the insignificant fight that had happened just prior to her leaving hung in the air like an awkward uncle. He had blamed himself, Ellie, and his dad way too many times for there to be much hope of forgiveness, though he never directly admitted it to any of them. And when he thought about it too hard, he always came to the conclusion that he hated her.

But he remembered Casey's direct wording: "She's a really good person, Chuck. We can trust her." Casey had known, perhaps for a very, very long time, that his mother was not only alive but active in the CIA. He clenched his already shut eyes tightly, and before he knew it, he was crying again, this time harder. He took large intakes of breath and tears poured down his face. Sarah leaned her head down and rested it his forehead.

"Chuck, talk to me," she whispered. "What's going through your head?"

"I don't know," said Chuck, reaching up to wipe his eyes. "I don't know why I'm crying. This is so weird…" He started to get up, but was a little wobbly. Sarah helped him and they propped him up against the wall.

"So you're telling me that my…that our mother is CIA? And that Chuck didn't know this?"

Sarah nodded. "I only found out a couple days ago," she said. "Your mother made us swear that we wouldn't give away her position." Sarah stopped and looked at Chuck. She reached up and ran a finger along his wet cheekbone. "I am assuming her reasonings have changed since she is now the head of the operation Chuck reports to."

Ellie didn't know what to say. She just sat and stared at Sarah, dumbfounded, for several moments. Chuck's breathing became steady again, but he kept randomly breaking out in tears, even when he felt the shock of the news had passed.

"Why isn't she in the Intersect?" asked Chuck. "I keep thinking _Mary Elizabeth Bartowski_, but I'm not getting anything."

Sarah grimaced. "Try…_Faye Halloway_."

That was all he needed. The name instantly triggered the data the CIA had on Faye Halloway. He began repeating the information he was getting aloud, so that the others could hear it.

"Faye Halloway, formerly CIA liason to International Marine Corp. Assumed pseudonym immediately after three consecutive assassination attempts on her life and was sent overseas to complete transition. November 8, 1982. March 18, 1979. April 29, 1960. April 4, 1961. Stationed in Rio de Janiero August 2000 as handler for undercover Agent Kipper. January 1, 1999. 550 812. AZ00XP535. Submitted recommendation for Paula Turner. Submitted recommendation for John Casey. Submitted recommendation for Robert Clawson. 8AO-B45."

Ellie reached up to touch Chuck's face as well. "What is he doing?"

Sarah sighed. "This is how the information comes out, sometimes," said Sarah. "When he doesn't fully have control, he repeats it verbatim as to the original encoding."

"What are all the dates?" asked Dr. Titus. "The numbers?"

"Most of them are birthdays," said Ellie. "Mine, Chuck's, mom, dad's. I don't know what the others are."

"Did he say that your mom submitted a recommendation for John Casey?" asked Devon.

"I think so," said Sarah. "That's sure what it sounded like."

"I'm really confused," said Dr. Titus. "I mean, I understand, in theory, how the Intersect is supposed to affect the brain, but the way Chuck is reacting to it…even with a virus, I don't know if I can even wrap my mind around this."

"It's been getting worse like this," said Sarah, dabbing Chuck's forehead with the end of one of the blankets. "He can't control it anymore."

"So he could control it at one point?" asked Devon. "Sorry, I guess I was under the impression that anything in the Intersect could trigger information when it was brought to the surface. And I'm talking before the Rio airport."

Sarah shook her head. "I don't know. Chuck, what do you think?"

Chuck was staring straight ahead at the computer screen. The screen had fizzed in and out, odd static for being in the middle of nowhere, and when the connection was coming less than five feet in any direction.

"Chuck?" asked Sarah.

"Just a second," said Chuck. His brain was reeling. Fizz. Tears. Control. Virus. All these things happening at once, and memories he couldn't recall to save his life suddenly appearing at the surface again. How were they all connected?

Outside, he could tell, they were approaching a town. There were houses along the way and road signs. They passed a gas station and a grocery store and then the neighborhoods really started to develop.

Chuck stood up. "My mother is alive. My mother is alive. My mother works for the CIA. My mother was nearly assassinated twice. My mother is alive." He paced back and forth repeating the information that had came to him in his flash. He repeated the numbers over to himself. 550 812. AZ00XP535. 8AO-B45. They didn't mean anything to him; that was beyond frustrating.

And then the tears started to come again and he knelt down on the floor of the truck. This time they were worse, he could feel sobs erupting from his chest and his eyes and cheeks were matted in warm, salty tears. His family and friends behind him were at a loss for what to do. Again, Sarah and Ellie knelt down beside him and rubbed his back until he calmed down. When his chest stopped heaving and he could open his eyes again, he felt exhausted, and he laid down on his back.

"I don't know why I'm crying," said Chuck, finally. "This is ridiculous."

"It's okay, Chuck," said Sarah, kissing his temple. "Don't worry."

"My tears are like garbage," he said. "My brain is expelling the strongest emotions I have right now. But the virus isn't programmed to collect everything, just certain kinds of stimulants from somewhere in the brain."

"I have only ever heard of that in patients with a neurodegenerative disorder, or a brain injury or stroke or….seizure," said Dr. Titus. He started pacing. "There are doctors who believe that emotions are not consciously controlled, but are spontaneous reactions reliant upon intact automatic brain systems that are projected outward. We can control, often, how we react to things. But when was the last time you laughed at a joke you didn't think was funny? Or a time you didn't realize you were smiling?" He stopped walking. "Chuck, you are involuntarily crying, right?"

Chuck nodded, shrugging.

"What makes you mad?" Dr. Titus asked.

"Excuse me?" asked Chuck, confused.

Dr. Titus squatted down, looking between Chuck, Ellie, and Sarah. "What makes Chuck upset? Like, so upset that he could punch someone in the face?"

Sarah and Ellie looked at one another. Neither seemed to have anything that came to mind immediately. Chuck couldn't really think of anything either.

"Okay, okay," said Dr. Titus, "um, what about…what makes Chuck giddy or overly excited? Or extremely annoyed? A strong emotion that we can incite from him?"

"Where are you going with this?" asked Ellie.

Dr. Titus stood up. "I know Chuck said that the virus was designed to collect information, but it seems unlikely that it can actually collect information from Chuck's brain. Scientists and doctors have debated for decades, perhaps centuries, of the ability to actually extract literal data from a person's brain. We can tell when someone is lying, or when they're feeling a strong emotion based on what portion of their brain is stimulated, but there is no way to actually recover this Intersect or the data it might have accrued since Chuck…what, _downloaded_ it?"

"Go on," said Ellie.

"Well, if this enemy organization that accidentally infected Chuck with this virus is expecting to try and remove either the virus or in some way extract the information from the Intersect should they capture him, isn't there any way to disrupt the virus's signal…or disrupts its…methods?"

"And you think we could do that through inciting strong emotions?" asked Ellie.

"I think it is definitely worth a shot," said Titus. "We might be able to make the virus dormant long enough to find your dad…which might also help Chuck use the Intersect."

"How do we do that?" asked Chuck. "How can we make me mad…or happy…I mean, to the level you are referring to?"

"Do we have any type of drugs on board?" asked Titus.

"Not the kind you are going to need," said Ellie.

"There's got to be something…"

The truck came to a stop and Casey looked around in his seat. "Chuck?"

"Yeah, Casey," said Chuck, turning his head.

"We're in Chester."

* * *

"We're ready to move," said Irina. "The virus's tracker is strong once again and we think we have a lock on their destination."

Jill stood up from her chair, setting the laptop she was using aside. "Where are they?"

"Northern Montana," said Irina. "They are driving into a small town that seems more of a destination than an accidental drop through."

"How are we going to handle this?" asked Jill.

"We are going to capitalize on the press they've been receiving," said Irina. "Four of them are believed to have been kidnapped by that CIA idiot, so we are going to go into the town as CIA and recover them."

"Won't that be a dead giveaway?" Jill asked. "Won't the CIA have faces to put with The Pound, then?"

"That's the point, my dear," said Irina. "Once we have Chuck, we will kill the rest of them and attempt to extract all the information from his head. If we can break through the Intersect's firewalls, whatever they may be, we can launch the first attack."

Jill's eyes widened, and to her own surprise, she was excited. "Please tell me I am going to be a part of this."

Irina evaluated her expression and cocked her head. "You can come," she said. "But if I think that you are helping them in any way…I will kill you myself on the spot, without the slightest…slightest hesitation."

Jill frowned. "I thought I'd proven myself to you by now."

Irina scoffed. "People will do whatever it takes to survive, unless surviving means sacrificing one's true mission. And one's true mission is not always revealed until a gun is pointed at their heads by someone who will indeed pull the trigger."

* * *

Agent Brook rushed through the main doors Kenlo Industries, shocked that he hadn't already been spotted by the CIA's security cameras and surveillance teams surrounding the Amulet complex. A couple startled customers quickly avoided the agitated and wearied looking man and gave him a wide berth.

Still on his feet, Brook turned in place, looking up at the ceiling, waiting for something to happen. A split second later, the goofy looking security officers, who were actually highly trained CIA agents, were on top of him.

"Take me to Mary…" said Brook, through gasping breaths. "I have…information…"

* * *

Chuck navigated the small band to the public library. He didn't know exactly where his father's house was, here in Chester, Montana, but he did know that his father would have cameras on the major institutions here for such a purpose as enemy or friendly invasion. He insisted that he get out of the truck himself with Ellie.

"Are you sure, Chuck? You still don't look well," said Devon. "What is the difference between you getting out and all of us?"

"My dad might be a hero, and he might be CIA, but he's still paranoid and extremely cautious," said Chuck. "I have a feeling he might not present himself immediately if he knew there were…seven of us."

Ellie got down out of the back end and helped Chuck to the ground. She looped a hand around his waist and slung his other arm around her neck.

"Chuck?" she asked, in a low whisper.

"Yeah, El?"

"I love you, you know that, right?" she said, leaning her head onto him.

"Yeah, I do. And I love you, too, big sis," he said.

"Can you believe that mom is CIA?" she asked.

"No…" said Chuck, "I really can't. Honestly, I thought she was dead. For a lot of years, there, I replayed the last couple days she was with us and thought she seemed especially frazzled. I kind of thought she was a drug addict, or something, and just lost it."

"Turns out she was being hunted," said Ellie. "Do you think dad knows?"

"How could he not?" asked Chuck.

"Why would he let us think that our mother just left us?" asked Ellie. "Isn't that the cruelest thing a person could possibly do?"

Chuck shut his eyes. "No, unfortunately not." He sighed. "Ellie, if it's one thing I've learned throughout all this, it's that the best thing we can do as agents is lie to the people who mean the most to us. And I don't mean lie as in lead astray, but lie as in…permit them to believe the scenario of a story that will cause them to react in such a way that will keep them safe. Obviously mom was being hunted by someone, and dad was, likewise, being hunted for his development of the Intersect. By leaving us, they forced us to rely on one another rather than become associated with their line of work."

"So much for that," said Ellie. Chuck laughed lightly. "It still seems wrong…"

"It is," said Chuck. "It's still wrong. But what other choice did they have?"

"Do you think the same way? Is that why you've been lying to me all along?"

They came to a stop at the foot of the library's steps. Chuck leaned back and looked into his sister's face. "Do you remember about a year ago when I got my diploma in the mail from Stanford? And that Sarah told you I'd been taking online classes to finish up?"

Ellie nodded, smiling. "Of course I do."

"Do you think that was the truth?" asked Chuck.

Ellie frowned. "Well, now I don't."

Chuck sighed. "What I do for the CIA is really important, I have a unique experience with them because of what Bryce did, the decision he made to send me the Intersect." He paused. "Stanford really did give me a diploma, but not because I'd been taking college classes. One of the CIA's main recruiting grounds is at that university, and so they were well aware of my involvement. I like to think of it as the CIA thanking me, and acknowledging that I am an asset to their operations."

"Wow," said Ellie, "I would have never realized."

Chuck nodded. "Yeah, it surprised me too. But my point is…I would have never been able to help the government or our nation in the way that I have if you had known all along. There are enemy organizations out there who know who I am, and if they used you to get to me, I could never forgive myself for that." He shook his head. "You and Devon and anyone else who knew would have gone into witness protection, or been given new lives with new names and stripped you of everything that you know."

"Chuck Bartowski: Classified," said Ellie. "I am so proud of you."

"Yeah, well soak it in while you can, if we can't find a solution to this and fast, there's no telling how much time I have…"

"Chuck, don't say that," said Ellie. "We're going to figure this out."

From behind them, an elderly woman came hurrying down the steps. "Excuse me…" They turned around. "Are you two Charles and Eleanor?" the woman asked. She held onto the railing and wore a pleasant smile.

"Yes," said Ellie. Chuck cringed, slightly, wondering if she should have admitted that right off the bat.

"There is a phone call for you inside," said the woman. "Would you follow me?" They looked at one another, Chuck hoped this was for the best, and then followed the woman up the steps.

"Here we are," said the woman. She picked up the phone and pressed a button. "Mr. Engleman? I found the people you were talking about." She smiled and handed the phone to Chuck. Then she whispered, "I will be right over there if you need anything else."

Chuck nodded and put the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Chuck, what the hell is going on?" asked his dad.

"Dad, we have a situation," said Chuck, in a low voice. "We need to meet you."

"Do you know how dangerous it is to be out in the open, right now? There are alerts out all around the nation for you and Ellie and Devon. What is going on?"

"I can explain everything if you just tell me where you are," said Chuck.

"I am coming to you," said Stephen. "I have a small building I use as my base close to the library."

"Dad, just so you know, there are quite a few people with us," said Chuck.

"I know, son," said Stephen. "I can detect their heat signatures."

Chuck rolled his eyes. Of course his dad could detect heat signatures. Of all the paranoid men in all the world, his dad was at the top of that list. For good reason, to be sure.

"Go east on Madison Avenue, then north on 2nd street. You'll only need to go about 400 feet and you will see a bus stop on the right. Park along that road and walk across the street to the park. I will meet you there." Stephen hung up.

Chuck reached over the counter and hung up the phone. The elderly woman rushed back to him. "Is everything alright?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am, everything is fine," said Chuck. "Thank you for your help."

"You two look really familiar," said the woman, cocking her head. "And I know most everybody in this town. Are you visiting family?"

"Yeah, you could say something like that," said Chuck. "We must be going, I'm sorry." With Ellie's help, they turned together and left the building, leaving the little old woman staring curiously at their backs and a whole lot of anticipation hanging between the siblings.

* * *

Irina paced around the plane as she spoke to her crew. "We will be on the ground in an hour," she said. "Remember, we are the CIA and FBI looking to recover missing persons. There is no other objective than to keep Charles Bartowski alive. Anyone else is expendable if they put up a fight. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," replied the crew. Each was dressed in a black, bulletproof vest with helmets, except for two, who were wearing business suits. Jill was also wearing a suit and had thick brimmed glasses.

"We will first infiltrate the main businesses that have the greatest likelihood of having surveillance cameras while I take a team and follow the tracker we have on our subject," said Jill. "Our objective is to make this town think that the missing persons featured on the news are actually mercenaries."

"Are there any questions?" asked Irina. "No? Good."


	19. Tripping

**Chuck vs. the Virus**

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* * *

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**AN: **I think there might be an inconsistency in this chapter in regard to the original Intersect. I believe I introduced the premise of the story as Chuck never removed the original one and downloaded 2.0 on top of the first, and that is the storyline I am going with. I think there was a point where Casey said something to make us believe the first one had been removed...but just to clarify, it wasn't. If that changes/helps anyone knows the scene I am referring to, I can go back and change it for consistency's sake.

And...I apologize if there are a lot of grammatical errors in this chapter. I didn't reread it. Long week :D

EDIT: Thanks to Tynianrex for spotting the error of repeating paragraphs. Please let me know if anything else was repeated, or the like.

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 18: Tripping**

"You downloaded another Intersect on top of the other one?" Stephen asked, incredulously. The seven companions were standing in the basement of Stephen's base, a building only accessible through an alley across from the park. They had found it rather hard to act inconspicuously when seven people climbed out of a large white van and entered a park.

"It was that or lose countless research and advancements made by the new Intersect teams," said Chuck. "I couldn't just destroy it."

Stephen was pacing now, running a hand through his hair. "Well, from the sound of it, they haven't perfected…anything…anything about it."

"Mr. Bartowski, we believe that members of the Pound may be en route to us right now," said Sarah. "They sent an operative to assassinate Chuck two days ago and have turned the lead agent in charge of our Burbank operation."

Stephen stopped walking. "Why have you come to me?"

"Dad, the Intersect has a virus," said Chuck. "The Pound is in possession of a weapon that can fire an encrypted virus that hacks a network and steals information. When it fired, it hit me and we are certain that I have it now."

Stephen looked at each face in the room, lingering on Ellie and then finally landing on Chuck again. "I guess it is plausible," he said, finally. "So what you are saying is that you don't have a lot of time?"

Dr. Titus stepped forward and cleared his throat. "Mr. Bartowski, I am Dr. Anthony Titus, I work with Ellie and Devon at the hospital." They shook hands, and Stephen looked at him as though he were familiar. "I believe I have a theory about how we can expose the virus."

"Let's hear it," said Stephen, nodding.

Slowly, Dr. Titus attempted to explain that, based on what he knew of the Intersect from Chuck and Sarah's explanation, and what he witnessed of Chuck's behavior over the last twenty-four hours, it might be possible to submerge the virus in false data by overloading him with extremely strong emotions. Stephen listened calmly, but wore a deep frown.

His explanation wouldn't have taken so long, had Chuck not keeled over halfway through. Suddenly, he wrapped his arms around his gut and dropped to his knees. Sarah and Ellie knelt by his side as he attempted to hold back more tears. His body shook violently and Stephen, who might have been a little skeptical before, listened more intently to Dr. Titus. When Dr. Titus resumed speaking, Stephen started pacing, which was a good sign.

Stephen walked over to his desk setup and sat down. He pulled up a couple different screens and tapped into the town's security system. "John, I need you to monitor the perimeters while we begin working on Chuck. You may need assistance..."

"I'll help," said Paul. "Whatever I can do."

"Are you CIA?" asked Stephen, skeptically.

Paul shot a look at Chuck, then Casey. "Yes, sir. I am CIA."

"Why did you hesitate? What is going on?" asked Stephen, getting to his feet and approaching Paul aggressively.

"Dad, just let it go, he's one of us," said Chuck. Sarah helped Chuck to his feet.

Stephen frowned, but let it go. Casey and Paul sat down at his desk and Stephen led the others around the corner to a door, and through the door and down two flights of steps. He pulled on a string and a light bulb a small bomb shelter-esque tuck away. It had a small camp bed, refrigerator, dresser, and desk, as well as an additional computer system with glowing yellow wires running up into the ceiling.

"Is he worried about a nuclear war?" Ellie asked Chuck, her voice low.

Chuck grinned. "If only," he said.

"Lay down on the bed, Chuck. I don't like the color your face is turning," said his dad. "Dr. Titus, Ellie, Devon, come with me, we will need to take a couple moments to develop the appropriate cocktail." The four of them left the small room.

Chuck frowned, but his body agreed with his father and it led him to the bed. He laid down and Sarah adjusted his head on the pillow. Then she took his hand in hers and held it to her cheek. "You're going to be fine, Chuck."

Chuck nodded. "I know, it just feels really daunting at this stage."

"You have no idea," she said, smiling.

He stared at her for a long moment. "What are you thinking about?"

She reached up to touch his face. "I'm thinking about a lot of things," she said. "It's hard to narrow down one thing I am thinking about." She sighed. "The first time we met...the first time we kissed, the first time you told me you loved me." A tear trickled down her face. "Chuck, you have to fight this, the whole way through, okay? You can't just give up, ever, because you think you are a threat or that the Intersect is unnatural or dangerous. Do you understand me?"

Chuck swallowed hard and nodded. "Sarah, you can't cry right now, you're going to make me lose it," he said. Then he smiled, trying to stave off the tears with laughter. But this made Sarah's tears come faster. She leaned forward and kissed his lips, wrapping her hand around his head and holding him in place. When she let go, she was finally able to laugh at the tear smudges she'd left on his face. He grinned.

"Where would I be without you?" he asked, letting his eyes droop sleepily.

"Same place I'd be without you," she whispered. "Somewhere I don't ever want to be again." Chuck's smile broadened and he winked an eye open. She laughed.

They heard voices growing louder again from the other room. Sarah turned her head to watch the doctors and Mr. Bartowski re-enter the room. Mr. Bartowski stopped and looked at them, curiously, as though he hadn't really seen them before, or perhaps in that capacity. Sarah caught his eye and she could tell that he knew instantly that their relationship wasn't a cover anymore. Like instinct, his eyes traveled to her hand and the expression he wore in response to seeing the ring on her hand was unreadable to Sarah. The exchange was so brief, Sarah barely had time to give him the smile the situation deserved before the doctors were swarming around Chuck.

"Sarah, you need to step back for a moment," said Ellie, tugging lightly on Sarah's arm. Sarah did not want to move, but Chuck gave her a reassuring smile. She grimaced and swallowed back more tears. Once more she leaned down and kissed him, as though there was no one else in the room, and finally allowed Ellie to pull her away from Chuck's bedside.

"What are you going to do?" asked Sarah, looking over their shoulders. The needles they held were filled with odd color concoctions, and to Chuck, they were like peering down the syringe of death. He gulped and looked up at Sarah. She held his gaze until Ellie forced him back into the moment.

"Chuck, listen to me," said Ellie, "we need you to stay with us until we've got it all set up, alright?" Chuck nodded. "Anthony is going to explain what we're going to do." She and Devon began securing Chuck to the bed with large ropes. He watched them in horror.

"This is not going to be pretty, Chuck, and it's not going to feel very good either, but just like exposing a real virus, sometimes you have to give it a little of what it's asking for before you can wash it out," said Dr. Titus. "First we're going to inject you with a hallucinogen. This is the most powerful one we could find, but it also will cause an edge of paranoia." Anthony paused and held up another vial. "Then we're going to give you a muscle relaxant, which will allow us to hypnotize you."

Chuck laid his head down on the pillow and shut his eyes. "You've got to be joking me," he said. "Guys, what makes you think the Intersect will even allow this to happen. I healed myself, for god's sake."

"No, Chuck, you did not heal yourself," said Devon. "The Intersect unconsciously interacted with the stimulants in your brain to provide them with the correctional data in order to repair the damage. We are going to separate that connection."

"We are going to pry the Intersect off your brain," said Dr. Titus. "Like peeling a leech off your skin. Once the two are separated, the virus will fuse out and the Intersect will reattach."

Chuck opened one eyes. "You know, that almost makes sense."

Stephen poked his head in the mix. "The Intersect is such a huge part of your brain right now, Charles, that it doesn't leave a crease, so to speak. The virus is still a foreign object."

Devon held up the first syringe. "Are you ready?"

Chuck's eyes widened and he looked at Sarah once more. She mouthed, _I love you_, and he smiled back, his own I love you smile. "Let's go."

Devon held the syringe to Chuck's forearm and slowly pushed the orangish cocktail into his skin. Chuck shut his eyes and leaned his head back on the pillow again, concentrating on his breathing.

**

* * *

**

Agent Brook was handcuffed to a chair. His slightly overweight belly covered the top of the cloth shorts he wore, and aside from the shorts he was naked. After being thoroughly stripped, searched, and tested for tracking devices and explosives, he had been sent through a series of personnel to get to where he was seated now.

"You're trying to tell me that you were coerced into betraying your country?" asked Faye, harshly.

Brook lowered his head. "I'm not proud of what I did," he said, solemnly. "But I thought you of all people would understand..."

"I sacrificed everything to be where I am now, and to preserve the lives of my children and husband...don't you dare try to tell me I'd understand betraying them, betraying my country..." she placed her hands on either arm rest of the older man's chair. "You broke down this operation from within, stood as an obstacle at every block. You destroyed the Intersect, both the man and the weapon."

Brook grimaced and pulled away from the forceful woman. "I have information, though," he said, through gritted teeth. "I know that what I did sounds irrational, but the threat to me…on my family, it was real and I freaked out."

"What? What is it?" said Faye, shaking the chair.

"They are tracking Chuck by the virus he was hit with," said Brook. "They aren't going to kill him, they never wanted the assassination to work, they wanted to take him on the escape, away from body guards and the CIA."

Faye stood up, frozen.

"They aren't going to kill him, they are going to dissect his brain…" said Brook. "They programmed the virus to download information, and they know the impossibility of it all, and yet they are going to try anyway."

Faye turned around and started pacing. "Do you have any idea where they plan on taking him to?"

Brook was breathing heavily. "I don't, I swear. I know they plan on killing anyone who stands in their way." Faye stopped again, her back to Brook. She held a hand to her mouth and hunched over slightly. "Do you know where Chuck is heading?"

Faye walked toward the door without responding to the man. She looked up at the camera and gave out instructions. "I want him brought to the CIA holding facility in LA. He'll undergo a trial, like every other traitor." The doors opened for her and she left the room.

"Do you know where Chuck is going?" asked Bill, the young CIA agent, newly recruited and acting as her assistant during the transition period.

"Yes," said Faye.

"Are you going to give instructions to send a team?" asked Bill.

Faye hesitated. "Not yet."

Bill stopped walking. "Why the hell not?" Fay stopped walking too and spun around to look at him. He gulped and swallowed hard, then stuttered and quickly corrected himself. "I mean, why not, Agent Halloway?"

"Because I know where they're going," said Faye, simply, taking a step back to the young agent. "And because I know where they're going, I know that they need time to fight for themselves before the CIA disrupts what they're doing." She fell silent, sorrowful. "And once we send agents there, the town will never be the same again."

**

* * *

**

After getting clearance with the Liberty County Airport to land an unidentified aircraft, members of the Pound, let by Irina herself, entered the airport. The _agents_, dressed in fine black suits, were stared at as they walked across the tarmac and into the main building. They were greeted by two armed personnel.

"Can we see identification?" asked one decorated man, who wore General Meade on his shirt.

Irina and her companions withdrew their fake CIA badges and Jill, right behind her, handed her own to the General standing next to Meade. The Generals handed their IDs back and nodded firmly.

"Welcome to Chester, MT, agents, can we inquire about your business?"

"We're hunting rogue CIA operatives," said Irina, replacing her badge in her coat pocket. "We have reason to believe they're hiding out in this town."

"Rogue CIA, huh?" asked General Meade, looking at his partner. "We haven't heard anything about that."

"Have you heard about the doctors missing from the hospital in Burbank, California?" asked Irina. Both nodded. "Well, the fourth missing person is the rogue CIA agent, who kidnapped the other three along with three of his own partners."

"Understood," said the general. "We have men at your disposal, if necessary."

Irina nodded. "We'll be in touch." She motioned for her team to follow, and together they swept through the building and to the far end, where they made their way down Madison Ave. Irina held the PDA with the tracking software out in front of her and motioned for men to move down various streets at certain intervals.

Jill walked alongside Irina confidently. "Is there any hope of getting this televised?" she asked.

"There's always hope," said Irina, in crisp Russian. She sounded bitter, focused, and ready for this whole ordeal to be complete.

**

* * *

**

When Chuck opened his eyes again, he couldn't really focus on any one thing. The first thing he saw was a bright pink blur with stars raining down from the sky. Then he heard his name and his eyes began to focus.

"Chuck?" it was a female voice.

The bright pink blur turned into faces, large faces with their skin sloping off and moving around in the air, like it was unnaturally stretching and floating in water. He gulped and recoiled, feeling a strange wail leave his throat.

"It's okay, Chuck, it's me. It's Sarah," said the voice. Something sharp was poking into his hand and he whipped it away, sitting up quickly. He thought he knocked into something, but it gave in to the force of his body. He couldn't feel anything.

"What the…," he said, looking around. "Am I in hell?"

Someone else spoke, but it was hollow and muffled in his ear. He looked to his right and saw the figures of the people he assumed had been standing over him. They were elongated and loping over, like they were disproportionate to the world around him. But as he looked around, the whole world was stretching and morphing. Everything he laid his eyes on changed into something else as he looked at it, becoming figures, then symbols, and then a blurb of unknown substance.

"Where am I?" Chuck said aloud. He meant to say it to himself and covered his mouth, giggling uncontrollably.

"Is he alright?" asked the female voice. The question wasn't directed at him. He looked toward the voice anyway. Long white and glowing strands of sold liquid poured from the top most portion of the speaker. When they moved, Chuck's eyes watched them, dazzled by their brightest and general unknown. He reached out to touch them and something took his hand, something not as prickly this time.

"He's clearly never been high before," said another voice. "Drugs are always strongest the first time they are introduced to a person's system."

"What is it?" asked Chuck, holding one of the strands in his hand. As he held it, though, the light faded from it and he frowned, leaning closer to it. "The glow went away. Why did it go away?" When he looked up he saw the people again. Now their bodies were recognizable and he started laughing uncontrollably. "You guys look ridiculous!"

"I think he knows who we are now," said another voice.

"What makes you say that?" asked the woman holding Chuck's hand.

"Just a guess," said the other voice.

"Chuck, I need you to do something for me, alright?" asked the man, whom Chuck could now see bending low and staring into his own eyes. The man's eyes glowed black and he recognized someone behind them, someone he knew. He reached up to touch the man's eyeballs, because they were so distracting. But the man caught them gently in his own and used his eyes to draw Chuck's inward.

* * *

"What did you just do?" asked Sarah, shocked. She waved a hand in front of Chuck's motionless face. He was staring straight ahead, not at anyone in particular, but not unconscious.

"He's hypnotized," said Dr. Anthony, standing up straight. "The drugs sedated the Intersect so that we could hypnotize him."

Sarah crossed her arms and shuddered. "I think that was the worst thing I've ever seen." Ellie wrapped an arm around her and they watched Stephen circle in front of Chuck. Devon stepped back by Ellie and gave the man some space.

"Chuck," said Stephen, softly. "This is your father. If you can hear my voice, I want you to close your eyes." Chuck's eyelids closed. "Good, now open them again." Chuck opened his eyes. "Very good, son. Alright, this time you can close them and keep them shut, we're going to go on a little adventure." Chuck shut his eyes again. "I need you to think about a time you were really scared Chuck. When was a time you feared for your life, or feared for someone else's life? Go back to that experience."

Sarah and Ellie looked at one another. Fear, of course, why hadn't they thought of that before. Chuck started talking, but it wasn't in English. Stephen looked around at the others. "Does anyone recognize that?" he asked.

"It sounds Eastern," said Devon. "Not quite Arabic, but similar."

Chuck stopped talking. "Chuck, what do you see?" asked Stephen.

Chuck rolled his head to one side, eyes still closed. "I am looking out over the city. I'm standing on the roof of a building. The streets are crowded and there are sirens going off."

Stephen looked around at Sarah. "Do you recognize this?" he asked, confused.

Sarah shook her head. "Is he supposed to be telling a real experience?"

Stephen frowned. "Yes. Maybe he's outside." He looked at Chuck again. "Okay, Chuck. I need you to turn around so you are facing the building." Chuck rolled his head again and sat still. "Is there a door?"

Chuck didn't respond for a moment. Stephen repeated his question and Chuck lifted his head. "No, there's no door. It's just a brick wall."

"He's locked himself outside of the memory," said Dr. Titus. "It's so real to him that he can't relive it."

Stephen shrugged. "Maybe. The virus also might be playing a part in this." He thought for a moment. "Chuck, walk up to the wall and put your hands on it, put your ear up to the wall." Stephen waited a moment, then asked, "Are you there?"

"Yes," Chuck answered. "I can hear people behind it. There are people fighting."

"Can you tell what they are saying?" asked Stephen.

"They aren't arguing," said Chuck, "they're fighting one another. Combat. There are things breaking, and a woman…there's a woman screaming."

"Is she saying something?" asked Stephen.

"She's telling me to get out of here," said Chuck. He pressed his eyes shut tight and sat up straight.

"Okay, Chuck, it's alright. You are not actually there, remember, you are reliving an experience you've already had." Stephen touched Chuck's leg and Chuck let his face soften. "I want you to remember what is going on behind the wall, alright? Think about what happened that day. Put your hands back on the wall, if you've taken them off, and start feeling around the bricks. Think about what you could have done differently in that situation as you feel around. Think hard, Chuck, and use the fear you felt as motivation."

Chuck sat up straight again, cringing. "Sarah…" he whispered.

Ellie looked at Sarah, and Sarah half glanced back at her. "Do you know what he's experiencing?" Ellie whispered.

Sarah shook her head. "It sounds like every mission we've ever been on," she said, shrugging. "But…there have only been one or two when I actually thought I was going to die."

"Which do you think it is?" asked Stephen.

"I was supposed to break into a corporate office about a year ago, posing as a tech specialist," said Sarah. "Casey was monitoring outside with Chuck and I ran into a snag when the night supervisor said she didn't recognize me. So Chuck rushed in as one of the young account executives and got me passed security. I told him to go back out to the van, but of course Chuck never obeys orders, so he accompanied me to the top floor. As I was downloading the information off the computer of this executive, he and one of his partners come back into the room and find us. They shot at me, shattered a window…and, well, a bunch of fighting took place. I was able to knock out the smaller guy quickly, but the other one had a really large edge over me. I screamed at Chuck to get out of there, because I knew Casey was on his way, but Chuck didn't move. He just froze there staring at us fighting, or, really, me getting my ass kicked."

"Why would he be remembering that?" asked Ellie.

"Because," said Sarah, breathing in deeply, "he says that's the moment he realized that he was in love with me, and that he could never be the man I needed fighting by my side." She shrugged. "Until now, of course." She took a deep breath. "So how do we make this work?"

Stephen inhaled deeply. "Chuck is experiencing this as himself now. If he can get in, he can flash on something and do what he couldn't do the first time."

"So hypnosis isn't like dreaming?" asked Devon. "The whole, try to punch and can't or feel like you're running really fast and you're not really moving?"

Stephen shook his head. "Hypnosis can be a real, interactive experience."

"Tell him…tell him he can change his reaction," said Sarah. "When he's trying to get through that wall, tell him he knows things now that he didn't know then, that he can be more than the scared guy on the other side of the wall."

Chuck stopped moving, then, and Stephen stood up. "I think he heard you," he said. "Go on, help him through this."

Sarah knelt down and put her hand on Chuck's leg. "Chuck, are you inside?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, a tear running down his face. "I'm just standing there, watching. Why am I not doing anything?"

"It's okay, Chuck," said Sarah, patting his leg. "Do you want to help?"

"Yes, so much. I don't want to just be standing there," he said, clenching his jaw.

"Then flash, Chuck, flash on hand-to-hand combat," said Sarah.

There were a couple moments of more cringing and jerking around on the bed, then Chuck toppled over on his side, his mouth gaping slightly.

"What just happened?" asked Ellie. She reached down and pressed two fingers to his neck. "He's still alive."

"It's alright, Eleanor," said Stephen. "The virus is being expelled."

"How can you possibly know that?" asked Ellie. "You give him drugs and hypnotize him…it doesn't even make sense in the realm of not making sense."

"You've got to trust me," said Stephen. "You've got to trust that I know how the Intersect works and how to repair it."

Ellie shook her head. "This wasn't a good idea, we should have…we should have…returned to the CIA. We should have gone to Washington and told them what is going on. How come we didn't want to do that?" she rounded on Sarah. "How could you, of all people, go along with this?"

Sarah looked surprised at the direct affront. "Ellie, this was Chuck's idea. He knew what he was doing." She reached up and touched Ellie's hand. "Your dad has done so much for the CIA over the last three decades, the least you can do is give him a shot at this." Ellie crossed her arms, looking very unhappy, but she didn't say anything.

They all watched Chuck for a couple minutes, but he quite literally did not move a muscle. The doctors checked his vitals and murmured to each other in big words that normal people think sounds like gibberish, and then stepped back. Stephen watched calmly, almost as though he had been expecting this all along.

Suddenly, upstairs there was a loud noise and some shouting. The building above them shook and the floor rumbled with the sound of intruders. The small group in the basement froze in fear. Gun shots went off, the sound of fighting filled the air. One last grunt and the sound of someone falling hard to the ground ended the madness, but still no one moved.

"Is there another floor to this place?" asked one voice, a deep male voice.

"It's a warehouse," said another male voice. "In Nowheresville, Montana. Based on the look of the other houses in the area, do you really think there's a basement."

"This is Stephen Bartowski we're dealing with," said the first voice, grunting in defiance. "He could an electric guitar in a long-range missile." Stephen shook his head and lowered it, almost like he was laughing.

"Well, throw the young guy in a closet for now. If the NSA agent is here, we can't be far. Look at all this surveillance equipment, anyway." Then there was the sound of a dead-weight body being dragged across the floor. Stephen jumped up and turned off the light and the small band of prey was cast in complete darkness.

The door opened at the top of the stairs and Paul was cast down. He rolled down and lay motionless at the bottom. Ellie let out a scream that Devon quickly muffled up with his hand, then pushed her behind him. Sarah stood up and approached his body carefully, completely aware that above them were a handful of people looking for them. It was The Pound, it had to be.

New voices joined the fray upstairs. Female voices.

Sarah looked back over her shoulder, first at Chuck, still unconscious on the bed, then at Stephen and the rest. Stephen shook his head; he clearly thought the best move was to do nothing, to make it seem like there was no one down here. They didn't know anyone was down here, and Sarah could still not believe they hadn't heard Paul tumble down the stairs.

Above them, she heard the shrill voice of Irina Kopp speak harshly. "We've lost the connection, where the hell did it go?"

Jill spoke next, and Sarah's look of terror turned first to shock, to have the suspicion of Jill's second duplicity confirmed, and then to anger. She would finally get the ass-kicking she deserved.

"I don't know, it just stopped. But it was here, it was definitely right here," said Jill. "We've just got to search the building."

Irina growled and paced around. "I have the NSA agent, at least," said Irina. "We can use him in our publicity plan. If I don't see Chuck Bartowski in ten minutes, I will start shooting people."

"What about the CIA agent?" asked Jill. "What should we do with him?"

"I don't care," said Irina. "He seems like a washout. Kill him if he tries anything, don't waste your energy."

"Where are you going?" asked Jill.

"To meet the cameras," said Irina. "We've got twenty some operatives roaming around here as CIA agents, surely they've caused some sort of stir. I'll have Demetri and Evan bring the NSA agent along and we'll show America the kind of traitors they have protecting them." She let out a low rumbling laugh. "Don't worry, Peter and Brandon are coming in to help you search."

Sarah's brow furrowed. She could hear Ellie breathing heavily behind her, trying not to scream or cry. She knelt down by Paul's body and felt his pulse. It was beating, but just barely.

"We've got to get you guys out of here," said Sarah to Stephen. "Do you have another way out of here?"

Stephen shook his head. "All I was able to build was a panic room inside the wall."

Sarah nodded. "Perfect," she whispered. "Take Paul and get yourselves hidden in there. Do not come out, regardless of what is happening out here, understand?"

"What are you going to do?" asked Ellie. "What about my brother?"

"I'm going to try and wake Chuck up," said Sarah. "If he wakes up, we have nothing to worry about."

"And if he doesn't?" asked Stephen.

"Then I will fight them off as long as I can. Until the CIA get here," said Sarah.

"The CIA is coming?" asked Devon.

"Of course," said Sarah. "They aren't going to leave their most valuable asset without backup. Chuck is worth several million dollars." She grinned, in spite of the situation. The others just stared at her, not seeing the irony she obviously did. "Nevermind, just get into that room. If they think it is just Chuck and I down here, they will probably spare my life for now."

"What about _Chuck's_ life?" asked Ellie, angrily. She was clearly not thinking straight.

Sarah sighed. "They don't want Chuck dead, Ellie, they want the virus."

"Check this out," said Jill's voice. It was louder than before and right in front of the top of the stairwell. Sarah motioned for them to go and Stephen helped move them along. Devon and Anthony picked up Paul and they all rushed into the darkness.

Sarah knelt down by Chuck. "Chuck, sweetie, Chuck? You have to wake up." She slapped his face. "Come on, you can do this."

"It's not like the other doors," said Jill. "Look."

"Well, open it…" said a male voice.

"It could be triggered to explode, dumb ass," said Jill.

"I think this is the closet that Evan through the CIA agent into," said another male voice.

Jill laughed humorlessly. "This is not a closet," she said.

Sarah slapped Chuck's face again, tried tickling him, poking, and shaking, but Chuck was as motionless as a dead man. She shook her head. If their roles were reversed, he would never leave her side, so she was not about to go. But she felt the same way as Chuck must have felt that day in the corporate office, frozen in terror because he could not do anything to save her life. She was just going to have to sit there and take whatever came.

Quickly, she slipped off her ring and hid it in her jeans. Safe keeping. Then, as the door opened at the top of the stairs, she laid down on the cold cement floor, deciding that playing unconscious was the best way to go. Maybe she could get an edge on them.

"This is definitely not a closet," said Jill. "Idiots. How did they not see this was a basement?"

The two men said something in Russian that Sarah didn't understand, and the three Pound members proceeded down the stairs. The light switched on and there was a moment's ringing silence before Jill started laughing hysterically.

"You have got to be joking me," she said with delight. "Okay, boys. Bag 'em and tag 'em." There was no movement and Sarah wondered if the men understood what Jill had said. Apparently not, because Jill groaned loudly and rephrased her statement. "Peter, grab the woman, throw her over your shoulder, and take her back to the plane. Brandon, do the same with Chuck."

"So this is Chuck?" asked the male voice who approached Chuck's bed. "This is the guy we're looking for?"

"Yes…" said Jill. "What is that tone you've got, Brandon?"

"It's just…" said Brandon, "he's so scrawny. And unconscious. I was hoping for a bit more of a struggle."

"Of course you were," said Jill, sighing. "Enough wasting time. We need to get him hooked up to The Machine. Even if the virus is fading, we can still access it."

Sarah let her whole body go limp as she was thrown over Peter's shoulder. She didn't react when the man groped her, but he had officially been added to her list of people who needed an ass-whooping.

**

* * *

**

Sarah was handcuffed to an airplane seat. She remained slumped over and acting unconscious.

"I don't understand why we're keeping her alive," said Brandon, gruffly.

"We need her in case Chuck is uncooperative," said Jill, bitterly. "Chuck has a lot of weaknesses, but women are at the top of that list."

Brandon barked in laughter. "He doesn't look like much of a lady's man."

Jill flipped a hand at him. "He's…very sweet. He knows his limitations, but will do everything in his power to help the people he loves."

Brandon scoffed. "It sounds like you have feelings for this douche."

"I used to," said Jill, quietly. "A long time ago. Another lifetime ago." Sarah grimaced, but attempted to keep still. "Is he strapped in?"

"Yes," said Peter. "The machine is hooked up and he's secure."

Sarah dared to open one eyelid, ever so slightly. She looked around and found where they were all standing, some fifteen feet away. They were all closed into the airplane, that had been specifically constructed for private use. Where she sat was a group of seats, a TV screen perched on the wall to her left. The screen was on and the news was running. Just beyond the bunch of chairs were the three Pound members and Chuck, who was strapped to a chair.

"His blood levels are showing signs of significant toxins," said Jill. "I think he's been drugged."

"Well, what the hell was going on in that basement?" asked Peter.

"It looked like a CIA facility," said Brandon.

"It was definitely not a CIA facility," said Jill. "It was amateurish and weak. Though very high-tech. I do not know what it was." She beat her thumbs on the ground. "Well, in any case, we can use the drugs to our advantage."

"How's that?" asked Peter.

"Chuck is already in a state of release," said Jill, "the Intersect is not protecting itself, it is exposed to external influences."

"So you can hack in?" asked Brandon.

"I can hack into the virus," said Jill. "Give me a minute."

Peter and Brandon turned and walked back to the television. Sarah shut her eye all the way, just in case. One of them turned up the volume on the television and they sat in the chairs. The news was addressing some issues going on at the Capitol this week, discussing some foreign affairs, and talking about the upcoming fall holidays and what that would mean for the United States' economy. Peter and Brandon spoke lowly, in Russian, most of which completely escaped Sarah. She could understand, however, that they were talking about Jill.

"Jill…" said Peter. "You better come see this…"

"I'm kind of busy right now," said Jill, angrily.

"Irina is on the news," said Peter. "She actually did it…"

Sarah stopped breathing. Her heart beat fast but she held her breath as she listened to the newscast.

"Breaking news from Chester, Montana. The CIA has tracked down the supposedly abducted doctors from Burbank, California, along with the other civilian identified just earlier this morning. CNN is enroute now, but we will send you to the local news station where Hannah James is conducting an interview with the lead CIA operative onsite."

"Thank you, Jeanine," said the brisk, female voice of Hannah James. "I am here in Chester with Agent Irina Kopp. Agent, can you tell me what's going on?"

"She used her real name?" asked Peter.

"Shhh," said Jill, slapping Peter on the shoulder.

"My organization would like to take this opportunity to announce that we have successfully infiltrated your country's government," said Irina, smiling into the camera. Sarah opened her eye again and watched the screen. Irina's voice was crisply Russian and she bore no signs of hesitancy. "The very fabrics that hold your system together are crumbling, and it is due entirely to the weak and impotent nature of the branches of the United States' defense lines." The camera zoomed out and Hannah James was yanked away from behind the screen. Beside Irina was an unconscious John Casey, gagged, beaten, and strapped to a chair. "We have your assets, and we will unravel your ability to protect yourselves."

The screen cut off to static and there was complete silence on the plane.

"Did you know she was going to do that?" asked Brandon. He was speaking to Jill.

"Unfortunately, yes," said Jill. She turned and headed back toward Chuck. "There's something wrong, here."

"What do you mean?" asked Brandon, also standing up.

"There is absolutely no sign of the virus in Chuck's brain," said Jill. "There is no electronic map, no dumping mechanism; his brain is doing nothing a computer infected with our virus should be doing. His brain is fully locked."

"What can we do?" asked Peter.

Jill put both hands on the table and shook her head. "This is bad. This is really, really bad."

"What can we do?" Peter asked again.

"There's nothing we can do! Don't you get it? This was our opportunity!" Jill screamed.

"But he still is the Intersect," said Peter. "Our scientists have almost figured out how to extract the Intersect from his head."

"Until then, however, our threats to the U.S. government are empty and unattainable," said Jill.

Brandon laughed. "But Irina has just announced to 250 million people that a foreign organization, that no one has ever heard of and still don't know the name of, has infiltrated the government and stolen one of its assets." He laughed again. "I'd say that will take care of the panic for a while."

"Irina will not think so," said Jill. She led the men out of the room. "We need to come up with a story in the meantime. If we can distract Irina long enough, she will not realize the virus has been removed."

Sarah opened both her eyes and sat up straight. She looked around the room. There had to be something that would help get her out of this tangle. Her eyes landed on Chuck, strapped down to something akin to a dentist's chair. She thought he was still unconscious, but a second later he opened his eyes and looked around. She gasped and his eyes went wide, telling her to keep quiet.

_I'm sorry_, he mouthed.

Sarah frowned. _For what?_

He shook his head. _What happened?_

_Your dad hypnotized you…removed the virus_.

Chuck closed his eyes for a moment, then snapped them open. _I think you're right._

_What now?_ asked Sarah.

Chuck looked around him, felt the restraints holding him to the chair, and then saw something closer to him. He craned his neck toward a nearby table. As he was doing so, one of his legs popped out of its restraint and the chair wobbled in place. His eyes grew wide as he tried to steady it, but by trying to balance, the chair became less steady and it toppled over. He groaned in pain. Then, to Sarah's surprise, one of his arms flew out of their restraint and in another ten seconds he had freed himself from his chair.

"How did you do that?" asked Sarah, as Chuck rushed over to her.

"I wasn't tied in very well," said Chuck. "I think Jill's henchmen are pretty daft and generally unconcerned with their overall objective."

He picked at the cuffs with a paperclip and got Sarah out. They embraced and Sarah buried her face in his chest. "Don't ever scare me like that again," she said.

Chuck laughed. "You don't have to worry there. I don't plan on going through that again."

Sarah leaned back took his face in her hands and kissed him. "Okay, let's go kick some ass. If you don't mind, I'd like to take down the big, burly blonde one."


	20. Trust Me

**Chuck vs. the Virus**

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**

AN: I know this is a long time in coming…school is a little overwhelming at the moment :) Thanks for whoever is still sticking with me. And for any computer engineers or web programmers out there, I might be able to _do_ the whole programming thing, but explaining it is another concept entirely, so don't shoot me if I sound off. Much appreciated.

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* * *

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**Chapter 19: Trust me**

Ellie's scattered breathing was the only sound in the pitch black panic room. A small blue light blinked steadily over a night vision camera that showed them a widescreen pan of the basement. Every ten seconds the view changed, rotating to different cameras around the warehouse. Stephen stood with one arm leaning against the wall next to the camera. The dark, green light illuminated his intent concentration as he studied the exterior.

After the two men hauled a still unconscious Chuck and a fake-unconscious Sarah up the stairs, they returned down with the woman he recognized as a former Fulcrum agent and, if he wasn't mistaken, Chuck's ex-girlfriend. They scoured the place and filled bags full of drugs and medicine and anything that could to be of use or value.

The panic room was built into the wall, and Stephen reassured them all that their presence would be disguised to everything but infrared cameras.

"And since most people, including terrorists, don't walk around with infrared cameras in their pockets, we should be fine," Stephen whispered.

One of the men walked around the perimeter of the basement, shining a flashlight over the odds and ends, in every nook and cranny, and over each wall.

"Well, can't say they're not thorough," said Stephen.

Finding nothing of use or interest, apparently, the man rejoined his companions and left the basement. Stephen circled through the cameras and watched as the small band returned upstairs. The exterior cameras showed them getting into a van with Chuck and Sarah, and then driving off, leaving nothing behind.

"Where are they going to take them?" asked Devon, unaware of how quiet his voice was.

"The airport, I assume," said Stephen. "There's a small commercial airport nearby, and since they got here too quickly to have driven, and too late to have followed you…I can only imagine they've brought what they need with them." He punched in a code and the door to the panic room opened.

"Aren't we going to follow them?" asked Devon, stumbling out on Stephen's heels.

"Soon," said Stephen. "First I need to send out an APB and an alert to the CIA." He helped the two men drag Paul out of the room. "We're going to have to leave him here."

"He's the only agent left," said Dr. Titus. "He's the only one that can defend us."

"His injuries are too extensive," said Devon. "Mr. Bartowski is right, we need to leave him here."

"Dad, how long will it take for Chuck to wake up?" asked Ellie.

Stephen stopped in midstride on the stairwell. "It shouldn't be long," he said, lowly.

"Dad, what is it?" asked Ellie. "Why do you sound like that?"

Stephen turned around. "I do not look forward to the aftermath of the hypnotism," said Stephen. "It manifests in strange ways…" he paused. "Ironically, it is easy to remove the virus because the interface is a human brain…but the hard part will be the brain's remapping mechanism. As it attempts to access the virus in order to accomplish its tasks, it will not find what it is looking for. When the brain recognized the virus as an essential part to its functionality, it rerouted everything through the virus. I don't know what specifically it was designed to do in this case, but whatever it was doing was causing Chuck to experience odd feedback from the Intersect. Now that the virus is removed, that systematic way of doing things has a glitch: what is the brain supposed to do when its normal method of doing things doesn't work? It will be painful, very painful, for him until he understands how to control the Intersect and correct the problem."

Ellie shook her head. "But you will be able to tell him he needs to control it when we catch up with him, right? Then he'll be able to save us?"

Stephen shrugged, but nodded. "Well, yes, I can tell him. But there is theory and then there is practicality…" he stopped short and looked around at the others. "In practice, I don't know how to even…I don't know if it's possible."

"It's possible," said Ellie, firmly, and nodding vigorously. "You would not have removed the virus if you didn't think he could do it."

Stephen looked away. "Yes, that is probably true." He didn't say anything more before he led them up the stairs. The main room with the computers Casey and Paul had been monitoring had been completely destroyed. None of the screens were functional but one, which was humming in a consistent static state. He stood in front of the console for a moment, his hand hanging from his neck in dismay.

Ellie stood next to him, and Devon and Anthony joined them shortly after making sure Paul was comfortable. Jill and her crew had completely wiped Stephen's supply of drugs clean, so when Paul awoke, if he awoke, he'd be in excruciating pain.

"What does this mean?" asked Devon, gulping and surveying the damage. Several computers had been ripped from their place in the wall. Loose wires hung out from everywhere and sparks flew every couple moments.

Stephen drew in a deep breath. "Plan B?" he said, uncertainly.

"What is Plan B?" asked Dr. Titus.

Stephen grimaced. "Hope that the CIA is aware of this operation and is sending operatives."

"You've got to be joking me," said Ellie, under her breath. "This is all the equipment you have?"

"El…" said Devon, reaching to touch her arm.

Stephen turned on her. "Well, I wasn't exactly expecting my kids to bring along a terrorist organization when they came to visit."

"We've got to get to the airport," said Devon. "If that's where they brought Sarah and Chuck, we'll be more use to them there than standing around here doing nothing."

"How far away is the airport?" asked Dr. Titus.

"Less than three-quarters of a mile," said Stephen.

"And that's our only option?" asked Ellie. "We can't notify anyone? No police?"

"The police in this town aren't equipped for this kind of field work," said Stephen. "They can't do anything. Devon's right. The most use I can be to Chuck is to make the airport work on their side. I can do that."

"Then let's go…" said Dr. Titus.

Stephen didn't move. "There is a 75 percent chance we'll be identified on the streets by the enemy and shot without a second thought," said Stephen. "We can't walk."

"What about our van?" asked Devon.

"Too conspicuous," said Stephen. "Wait here for five minutes, then sneak out the back…I will go hotwire the neighbor's car and pull it around. As far as we know, the Pound agents don't know who I am, much less know I am here. If we can smuggle you three out of site, make it look like I am the only one in the car, I bet we make it."

* * *

Chuck began opening drawers and looking under cushions. Anything that looked like it could be removed or gaps between furniture and walls, if there was a space to hide something, he looked at it. Bugs were everywhere; high-tech listening devices that the Intersect described as the most intricate of designs.

The XSO 450S was designed to detect heart beats and strengthen its signal based on the location of each heart beat. It was so bizarre to Chuck that he actually stopped and held it in his hand. The XSO 450S was no bigger than a golf ball and appeared to be completely stainless steel. He looked around the cabin and spotted at least three more placed around the area, all inconspicuous as they just looked like part of the décor.

Sarah saw him stop and look at the device. She walked over to him. "Chuc—" the moment she started speaking, he covered her mouth with his hand, shaking his head vigorously. Then he mouthed, _bugs_, and nodded at the object in his other hand.

She nodded. _Did you find a weapon?_

Chuck shook his head, then pointed toward the front of the plane. She looked in the direction he pointed, but she didn't seem to understand what he was saying. He set the XSO down and motioned for her to follow him. When they got to the wall that divided the main cabin from the captain's deck, he stood still and concentrated, then put his hand up to the wall. Pressing in, ever so slightly, something clicked behind the wall and a panel rose, revealing a hidden compartment.

Grinning, Chuck looked over at Sarah, who was also smirking. She leaned over to him and kissed him. He wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her back, then with his free hand reached into the compartment and grabbed a gun. When they parted, leaning their foreheads against each other, Chuck noticed that Sarah had done exactly as he had. They both grinned again and shoved a couple more guns into their belts, as well as additional clips.

They moved toward the nearest window, both with a hand on their own gun. Chuck looked out the window first and Sarah peeked through the one right next to him. Jill was on her cell phone, one arm moving dramatically through the air. The two goons were smoking and playing on their phones. Chuck caught Sarah's eye and raised an eyebrow. She rolled her eyes and shrugged.

Deciding against speaking out loud, and maybe avoiding the risk of being discovered too soon altogether, Chuck motioned with his hands. He pointed between the two of them and then opened and closed his hand, mimicking a mouth. Sarah put up her hands as if to say, _Where?_ Chuck looked around.

Movement outside caught their eye and they both froze. Chuck looked back out the window. Jill was staring at him. She looked infuriated. Sarah ducked down before she could be seen too and crawled away from him, looking for the best position to strike a surprise attack.

"Crap," said Chuck, aloud. He pulled out two guns and held them in either hand. The Intersect told him how to use them, and he walked forward, preparing to meet Jill's goons.

The bulky men raced back onto the plane, both more agile than they looked. Peter was tall and thick, like a defensive end in the off season, but Brandon looked like a bouncer, rounder around the middle and a thick neck that almost rolled over his shirt collar.

"Don't move," Chuck shouted. "Do not move."

"Or what?" Peter sneered.

"I will shoot," said Chuck, as though it was the most obvious answer. "What do you think these are loaded with?" Peter eyed the guns, but didn't erase his sneer. "Let us go and we won't kill you."

"Chuck, you won't get within twenty yards of the airport," said Jill, walking up from behind Peter and Garrett. "You are being hunted by over a dozen agents. We have birds watching you, and everyone in this town, and the nation, believes you are a criminal."

Chuck laughed. "You think people actually bought that crackpot story Irina told on the news?" He shook his head, but kept his eyes on Jill. "What happened to you Jill? What happened to the woman who said, 'Don't let them change you.'?"

"Solitary," said Jill, bluntly. "Solitary happened to me. Conditioning. This is the way I am, Chuck, there's nothing I can do about it so there is no use fighting it."

"That is a load of crap," said Chuck. "You've always had goals, Jill. Even with Fulcrum. You told me when they recruited you, they promised you everything you ever wanted. Career, money, safety, a purpose. What does The Pound give you? I don't see you benefitting in any way here. From the look of it, Irina had you capture me because she knew I would kill you."

"Unless we got the virus out," said Jill, smirking. "Chuck, when you're you, you can't cast a hard look at a bunny, much less _kill_ your first love."

Chuck did everything he could not to look at Sarah. Would she ever forgive him for killing another human being? Could he actually do it?

"Jill, don't make me do this, please don't make me," said Chuck, barely above a whisper.

Jill began walking closer to him. "Chuck, the only way you are going to get off this plane is by killing us. We have a bit of an advantage over you and you're…uh…partner, is it?" Chuck grimaced, but held his tongue. As Jill approached him, she moved past the point where Sarah was hiding. Sarah crawled along the base of the wall, her face was red with fury. Chuck took a couple steps backwards, still aiming his gun at Jill.

"You're Chuck Bartowski," said Jill, laughing humorlessly. "You aren't going to kill anyone."

"Jill, you know what is in my brain, you know that there are five hundred ways I can get out of this situation," said Chuck, seriously.

Jill widened her eyes and looked around, mockingly. "Then why are you still here?"

Chuck rolled his eyes. "I think you knew me a little better than that," said Chuck. "You think I want to kill you, any of you? I'd rather that you see how big a mistake this is, that no matter what the Pound's goals are or Irina's goals are, they are ultimately worthless, just like every other insane dictator that ever existed."

Jill smiled. "You want me to see the error of my ways and cross back from the dark side."

"Eh," said Chuck, shrugging. "Sometimes. Mostly, I just wanted to lead you toward me." Jill raised an eyebrow. Chuck whispered, "Look behind you."

Sarah was on her feet and laid a fist across Jill's jaw the moment she turned around. Peter and Brandon yelled and started rushing toward Sarah. Jill fell to the ground and Chuck leaped over her. Peter knocked the gun out of his hand and threw a punch, but Chuck reacted quickly and ducked, throwing his fist into Peter's belly. There was not much give in the big man and hitting his stomach was like punching a brick wall with a mitten on. Chuck cringed in pain and held his hand. Peter shoved him hard and Chuck tripped over Jill as he stumbled backward.

"Chuck!" Sarah screamed. She laid her heel into the big stomach of Brandon and the man screamed in pain. She followed the kick by breaking his nose with her elbow, breaking his jaw by bringing her knee up quickly. She turned to sneak a peek at Chuck and Brandon managed to capitalize on her distraction by swiping her feet out from under her.

Chuck flipped his legs over his head and pushed himself into a standing position. Peter was on him again. He punched Chuck in the stomach and laid another fist across his jaw. As he drew back to hit him again, Chuck was able to react and caught the punch with his hand. He shoved Peter backward and brought his foot down hard on the man's knee. Peter's eyes bulged and he fell to the ground, nearly landing on Jill, who was attempting to get back onto her feet. Grimacing, Chuck drew his leg up again and came down as hard as he could on Peter's other knee.

Peter glared up at him, the veins bulging from his neck and forehead. He was sweating into his eyes, making him blind as well as severely injured. He huffed angrily and shouted out in pain again. Chuck jumped over Peter and Jill and ran to Sarah, who had kicked Brandon in the chest from her position on the ground. The big guy went down hard against the wall and the plane rocked. Chuck paused a moment to catch his balanced.

Chuck helped Sarah to her feet and they both raced off the plane.

"I told you that I wanted to take down Peter," said Sarah, looking upset.

"What?" said Chuck. "Which one is Peter?"

"The one _you_ beat up," said Sarah.

"How was I supposed to know their names?" asked Chuck. They got to the bottom of the steps and made a mad dash for the small terminal. "Besides, you got to punch Jill."

Sarah grinned. "I've been wanting to do much worse than that for a very long time."

Chuck smiled, resignedly. They were close to the terminal now and as they focused on the building, they noticed movement inside. Chuck grabbed Sarah's arm. "Whoa, whoa whoa. I think there are people in there."

Sarah stopped and squinted into the building. There were, indeed, people inside. "Friend or foe?" asked Sarah. Chuck didn't answer. She looked round. "Chuck? Are you alright?" Chuck was standing still, his eyes unfocused. She watched him for a moment, then touched his arm. "Chuck, what is it? What's wrong?"

His face made it look like he was in pain, but he wasn't making a noise or moving a muscle. Gunshots sounded off behind them and miraculously woke Chuck from his reverie. He cringed and put a hand to his temple. Sarah covered his neck with her hand and dragged him forward.

"We can't go into the building," said Chuck. "What if they aren't friendly?"

The door at the top of the stairs to the building opened and Devon rushed out onto the deck. "What are you guys waiting for?" he shouted. "Get up here!"

Sarah changed tracks immediately and led Chuck toward the stairs. Gunshots from the top of the stairs echoed and, instinctively, Sarah ducked and pulled Chuck down with her. Looking up she saw that it was Devon who was firing toward the plane. Her eyes widened, but she got back to her feet.

"Is Devon firing that gun?" asked Chuck, finally coming back to himself.

"Yes," said Sarah quietly.

"This world is getting stranger and stranger," said Chuck.

"Is he okay?" asked Devon, helping Sarah get Chuck inside.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," said Chuck, shaking his arms to make them let go of him.

"What happened out there, Chuck? You were there with me one moment, then the next you were…somewhere else," said Sarah.

Ellie, Anthony, and Stephen joined the other three. "I can answer that," said Stephen. "But we've got to keep moving."

"We have to figure out where they are holding Casey," said Sarah. "We need him."

Stephen scratched his head. "This isn't that big of a town, but they could quite literally be anywhere."

Sarah shook her head. "They were at the news station not too long ago," she said. "They've made him a P-O-W of their own agenda."

"We need weapons," said Chuck, looking at Sarah. "There's no way we can infiltrate their perimeter without defense."

"Chuck, you aren't well enough to do this," said Ellie, grabbing his arm. "You have to go with dad and learn how to get better, how to control the Intersect again."

Chuck shook off her grip, a bit coldly and unnaturally. A firm line overtook his mouth and he stared down at her. "Ellie, we are in the middle of a war here, if you haven't noticed," he said, steadily, but with such conviction and resolve that Ellie let go and stepped away. "If I don't go, this town has lost all hope until the CIA arrives, and who knows when that will be." He looked away from her and scanned the inner room of the terminal.

Ellie looked at her father, who was staring at Chuck curiously. He didn't look like he was going to say anything to try and stop him, and Ellie made a motion to encourage him to act, but he shook his head. Then Ellie looked at Sarah, who, as she had been a lot lately, was staring at Chuck with an unfamiliar uncertainty. She clearly didn't recognize the behavior she saw.

Chuck moved toward the door on the far side of the room. "Chuck?" said Sarah, stepping in a direction to follow him. Stephen reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders. "Mr. Bartowski, what is it?"

"It might not be safe to follow him," said Mr. Bartowski, in a low voice, just barely above a whisper.

"I'm not letting him go out there alone," said Sarah, in a voice that said _you'll have to kill me first_.

"No," said Stephen, shaking his head. "I mean…it might not be safe to be…with him…right now."

"Why?" asked Sarah, finally looking around at the older man. "What is going on?"

Stephen shuffled his feet, looking for the right words. "The hypnotism removed the virus, but the human brain can't recover from such a massive attack like a computer can. And the fact that Chuck's brain is both a computer and a human brain makes this so much worse than I could have anticipated."

Sarah was frozen in her step. "What are you saying?" she asked, drawing each word out, then clenching her teeth to hold in the emotion.

"We can fix it," said Mr. Bartowski, "but it needs time that we don't have." He blinked several times before lowering his head. "And I'm afraid the longer we wait, the worse it may get."

"The worse _what_ may get?" Sarah said, nearly shouting. "Just tell me!"

"Chuck's brain doesn't know how to redirect the information that was previously being emptied into the virus," said Stephen. "A typical program retrieves information and stores it in its memory, building a local instance of that information. In Chuck's case, the Intersect downloads a sequence of related images and information to his short-term memory. Well, a garbage collector decides what pieces of that sequence do not need to be referenced again and releases those bits of data from the memory, freeing up more space to download more. The human brain is the perfect interface for this kind of program because it does not have a capacity like a computer does, at least not that we know of, or at least…not that has been tested at great length." He pointed in the direction Chuck had gone. "Now that the virus isn't there, the computer in his brain doesn't have a way to release unused resources, which means it is building up with garbage…scrambling the data and building up an unnecessary amount of storage in his short-term memory."

Sarah gulped and looked around at the others. All were looking at Stephen blankly, as though they had just endured their first lecture as freshman and knew they were in over their heads. Stephen was breathing heavily. He combed a hand through his hair and looked around.

"I don't know how to help him without…without…" Stephen's voice trailed off as he lost himself in thought.

"Without what, dad?" asked Ellie.

"I'm not sure," said Stephen. "Hypnotizing him, maybe. Maybe the Intersect knows how to correct the problem…it may, it may just need to be forced to, or told explicitly what it needs to do."

"Can he flash on this?" asked Sarah.

Stephen shrugged. "I had very little to do with the data that went into the 2.0," he admitted. "But I am afraid to make him flash anymore than absolutely necessary. If he goes overboard, it may overwhelm his brain and make him go catatonic."

"Tell me what to do," said Sarah.

Stephen shook his head. "I can't, Sarah…I can—"

Sarah gripped his arm. "Mr. Bartowski," she said, very firmly, her eyes brimming with emotion. "If anyone in the world can get Chuck to focus, it is me. You have got to trust me. Please..."

Stephen looked at his daughter out of the corner of his eye. Tears were streaming down her face, but she nodded, agreeing with Sarah. Devon wrapped an arm around his wife and pulled her in.

"Okay," Stephen conceded. "Okay. I do have an idea, but it won't be a permanent fix."

"Will it make it harder to heal him afterwards?" asked Ellie.

"Maybe," said Stephen, honestly. "Maybe not."

"Ellie, we'll be able to fix it, whatever the problem is," said Sarah. "Chuck has gone through much worse."

Ellie glared at her. "That is not comforting," she said.

Devon shrugged. "Actually, I think it's pretty comforting."

**

* * *

**

Water gushed over Casey's face and spilled down his shirt. It was ice cold and he drew in a sharp breath. It had waked him from unconsciousness and fired adrenaline through his veins. He writhed under the chains binding him to the chair, nearly ripping them off their hinges. But he was tied fast and they weren't going to give.

When the water was no longer running into his eyes, he lifted his head to look at his captor. He groaned. He couldn't see the person, just their silhouette against the light they stood in front of. It looked like a man, but he couldn't be sure.

"You're never going to get away with this," Casey said, taking deep breaths, and continuously attempting to wriggle out of his bindings.

"This is a war, Colonel," said the man's voice. "To pretend like it is anything else is denial."

Casey barked out a laugh. "This isn't a war, you fool. This is an ambush. You've captured one NSA agent. You haven't done anything."

"Actually," said the man, kneeling to the ground so Casey could see his face, "we've captured an NSA agent and three CIA agents. Including the notorious Intersect agent, Chuck Bartowski."

Casey laughed again. "An Intersect agent? Really?"

"Don't pretend," said the man. "We know who he really is."

Casey nodded sarcastically. "Uh huh," he said, doubtfully. "If Chuck were the Intersect, and the Intersect is all anyone was led to believe, how can a dumbass group of wannabe terrorists capture him? That doesn't make any sense."

The man shrugged. "That is the question, isn't it. Either your man isn't as good as he should be and you're wrong, or he's not the Intersect…and we're wrong. We have nothing to lose, either way." He grinned. There were gold teeth in the back of his mouth and as he turned his head, Casey saw the long scar running down the side of his cheek. "You, on the other hand, the CIA, the NSA, and the whole United States…you have a great deal to lose."

For the first time since Casey had awoken from unconsciousness, he looked around. The whole area was oddly silent. "Where is everyone?"

The Pound agent smiled. "Getting ready."

Casey rolled his eyes. He hated having to ask the obvious questions. "For….?"

"For World War three," said the agent.

Casey let out one low growl, then using all his strength, thrust his chair forward and landed a head butt squarely on the agent. Then he grimaced in preparation and, with the agility of a much younger man, flipped his chair 270 degrees and landed on the man again. Bones cracked and popped, and the man went limp.

Now on his back, strapped to the chair and staring at the ceiling, Casey sighed and rolled his eyes. "Now what?" he mumbled.

**

* * *

**

"Chuck?" Sarah whispered. She entered the dark hallway, just beyond the main control room. She stopped for a moment to let her eyes adjust, cautious and breathless, she listened for any slight sound and watched for any change in the darkness. _He's not dangerous_, she reminded herself. _Just don't spook him_. "Chuck!" she whispered again, this time more loudly.

"Sarah?" said Chuck. He called from the darkness before his figure appeared. "Come on, I found the security room."

"Where are you? I can't see anything," said Sarah, talking an even, but still lower volume. His hand touched her shoulder, then traced down her arm and linked his fingers through hers. She shivered and let him lead her into the next room.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

"No," said Sarah.

"Oh." He looked around the room, the lights were off and it was still very dark, but Sarah could see a bit clearer.

"Why is it so dark in here?" asked Sarah. "And aside from the lights not being on."

"I think the windows have some sort of filtration on them," said Chuck. "This is a well-equipped airport terminal. I think it is either a CIA base, or was one at one point. The Intersect isn't telling me much."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" asked Sarah.

"I'm not sure yet," said Chuck. "No news is good news, though. Isn't that what they say?" He looked up and grinned at her. "Now…we want to find some sort of communication device, or maybe a television. If we can find out what the Pound is doing right now, we may figure out where they've got Casey."

Sarah began sifting through papers and equipment. "I see some transceivers, some monitors and computer consoles. Nothing seems to be actually working, though. No lights are blinking."

"As far as I can tell, all the circuits have been cut. No power," said Chuck.

"Since there are no local militia stationed here, I am guessing they've either been diverted or taken out," said Sarah. "So they've probably rerouted everything to…wherever their base is. How are we supposed to use anything we find? Should we find what you're looking for?"

"Do you think it's unlikely they're still at the television station?" asked Chuck.

"No, it's entirely possible they're there. But the question is…how many agents do they have? We took out three," said Sarah, then she snickered, "or two and a half, but if there are more we might not have a chance, considering they are heavily armed and we don't have much."

"What are the chances that the CIA is almost here?" asked Chuck, without much hope.

"We can't rely on them showing up right when we need them," said Sarah. "Not because I doubt they're coming…but that we have to think about how we can take them down, with or without. Chuck, if they don't get here for even another hour…that's an hour that Casey's life is in danger, an hour that may compromise your family, or worse, you!"

"What do you mean? We're safe here," said Chuck.

"No, Chuck, we, as in me, your dad, Ellie, Devon and Dr. Titus. We are safe. You are not," said Sarah.

"Sarah, the virus is out, I'm fine," said Chuck.

"No, you aren't," said Sarah. "Ten minutes ago you nearly collapsed on the pavement, and not five minutes ago you coldly shrugged off your sister."

Chuck looked at her strangely. "Sarah, she doesn't get it," he said, quietly. "She constantly wants me to be safe and out of harms way, but she doesn't get that someone has to do this job."

"She loves you, Chuck," said Sarah, walking over to him. "She just wants the best for you."

"If she really wanted the best for me, she would let me do what I've been trained to do," said Chuck, coldly. "I'm sick of her reacting this way to everything I do."

Sarah stopped in front of him and crossed her arms. "Then what do you want?"

"I want to find Casey and get the hell out of here," said Chuck. "Isn't that what you want to do?"

"Of course," she said.

"Then let's stop talking about safety and just trust that I, with your help, can get us out of here," said Chuck.

Sarah grimaced. "But…"

"But what?" asked Chuck.

"Chuck, you aren't _well_," she said. "You need to listen to me, okay? You trust me, right?"

Chuck stopped moving and fidgeting and looked her in the eyes. "Of course, Sarah. You are the only one I trust."

"Then you've got to trust me to just stand still for a couple minutes, alright?" she said. "Your dad has an idea of how to temporarily relieve the pressure from your head, but you've got to calm yourself down."

"We don't have time for that," said Chuck, rolling his eyes.

Sarah grabbed his arm. "Chuck, the Intersect is making you want to keep moving because it doesn't know how to refresh the information in your head…or something. I don't know the technical term for it. You've got to go against it what it is making you feel like you need to do."

"I thought you trusted my instincts," said Chuck.

"I do, I do more than you could ever know," said Sarah, moving closer to him again. She rubbed his upper arm with her hand and leaned her head against his chest. "But in this instance…I am siding with your dad."

"My dad…" said Chuck. Something seemed to click in his voice. "So you're saying my dad thinks there is something wrong with me still? Even though the virus is out?"

"It's because the virus is out that you are having problems," said Sarah. "He can explain it better than I can, but first you just need to stand and be still."

She listened to his heartbeat. It was going fast, but as she kept her head on him it seemed to slow down. He wrapped his arms around her and he calmed down quickly. She focused on her own breathing, taking in deep, slow breaths and letting them out through her mouth, hoping it would create a rhythm for Chuck to mimic, unconsciously.

After two minutes of standing this way, Sarah heard the music begin. It first seemed very far away, but it slowly swelled the room and seemed to emanate from the walls. It filled her lungs and reverberated off their skin until all she could think and feel was this concerto coursing through her veins. The strings sang to the brass, and the drums chased the woodwinds until they came together for the final measure and left, breathless, the listeners who were so enrapt by sound it took them a good twenty seconds to realize the music had ended.

Sarah pulled away from Chuck to look up at his face. "How do you feel?"

Chuck's eyebrows furrowed, but the lines on his face were much less pronounced. "My head feels lighter," he said. "It feels like I just took a long nap."

Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness," she said. She stood on her tiptoes and laid a soft kiss on his lips. "Now, let's go find Casey."

* * *

Stephen was typing away at a computer when Sarah and Chuck rejoined the small group in the main terminal. He didn't look up, but Ellie ran to Chuck and threw her arms around him.

"Sorry about before, Ellie…" said Chuck.

"It's okay, really," she said, sniffling into his neck. "I'm just glad you are all right."

"Chuck, I think that Casey is still at the television station," said Stephen, spinning around to look at his son. "Come here."

Ellie release Chuck and he walked over to his dad. "How did you get power?" asked Chuck.

"There is always power," said Stephen. That was the only explanation he gave. "Look here," he said, pointing at the screen. "The cameras I have set up around town have picked up nearly all of the agents wandering around, patrolling, if you will," he said. "They all seem to move in regard to the television station building here." He circled a small neighborhood on the map with a finger. "And as far as I can tell, from the fast-forward footage I examined, Casey was taken in, but never taken out."

"Are there any other ways out of the building that your camera wouldn't catch," asked Chuck.

"Yes, but it is improbable that he could avoid other cameras after that," said Stephen. "He could leave through the back, but a block in either direction he'd be picked up by another camera."

"This is Casey we're talking about, though," said Sarah, who had joined Chuck by his father. "If there's anything he can do, it's make himself scarce."

"Would he stay inside the building for any reason?" asked Chuck, to Sarah. Stephen turned around to look at them. "What if he found something more important than escaping?"

"Mr. Bartowski…can you find anything on your surveillance that might indicate what kind of operation they're trying to pilot from the television station?" asked Sarah. "Are they sending out communications? Trying to contact any specific group of people?"

"The television station has a secondary relay office," said Stephen. "Because Chester is so remote, and rather late in regard to modernization, they need an entire substation devoted to transmissions."

"This is pointless," said Chuck. "We need a way out. We need to get Casey and get out of here. There is nothing we can do without a larger task force, we just don't have the man power." Sarah turned around and paced away from them. Chuck followed her with his head. "What, Sarah?"

Sarah turned to look at him. "We can take them."

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Maybe. Maybe if I was in tip-top shape and we knew for sure we had Casey…"

Sarah shook her head. "No, Chuck. We can take them. All we need is an in. We need to get to the center of their operation and work our way out. Destabilize them from the center and pick them off one-by-one. Plus, if we go to their center, we will inevitably find Casey."

Chuck stared at her, but not with disbelief. He was considering her plan.

"You aren't actually considering this, Chuck," said Ellie, walking to him. "You can't take all those terrorists out, not in your condition."

Chuck turned to face his sister. "Ellie, for once in your life could you just believe in me?" he threw up his hands. "I know you love me and just want to be safe, but I have chosen this life. I am good at this, and Sarah makes me better. Together…together we have never failed." He breathed deeply, his chest heaving. "I thought you would have gotten that impression from the incredibly long story we told you after escaping from the hospital."

Sarah was at his side suddenly. "Chuck…" she said softly.

Ellie blinked a couple times, a tear rolling down her cheek. "No…he's right," said Ellie. "I can't protect you from everything, I know that. But I am not going to apologize for asking you to not do it." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "But you're right. You were trained for this situation. And there is no one I trust more to get us out of this than you, Chuck." She quickly threw herself into his arms again.

Chuck wrapped his arms tightly around her. "I love you Ellie," he whispered. "We will get us out of here."

"I know you will," she said.

"What can we do, bro?" asked Devon, stepping closer.

"We need to be able to escape after we've demobilized their command center," said Chuck. "We're going to have to take their plane."

Devon blinked. "You can fly a plane, I assume?"

Chuck nodded. "Yes," he said. "I don't want you to be in that plane until you see us running toward it with Casey. Stay in here, monitor the area, defend yourselves. We will find our way into the station."

Before leaving the terminal, Chuck hugged his dad, and his sister grabbed him once more. Then, taking Sarah's hand, they ran out of the central terminal and toward the sunlight.


	21. On the Inside

**Chuck vs. the Virus**

**Chapter 20: On the Inside**

Crunching more bones beneath him as he rocked side-to-side on the chair, Casey felt the bones of his own hand break when it was crushed beneath an arm of his chair. Despite the excruciating pain, he reached as far as he could toward the Pound agent's pants, looking for a key. Frustration mounted and Casey realized he was so well strapped into his chair with these chains that it beat some of the prisons he'd seen in Abu Dhabi and Tall 'Ali. Even if he were to find a key, he reasoned, he would not be able to angle his hand in such a way that he could unlock the chains.

Now lying on his side, Casey considered his options. He could attempt to crawl out of here. No. He'd get shot in the back if any other agents came in. He could wait for Chuck and Sarah. No. There is no telling whether Chuck was well enough to lead a three-man operation into the Pound's local headquarters. There was no telling whether Paul survived the invasion, nor if Chuck and Sarah knew where he was.

He, John Casey, had been in tighter binds than this.

The next option was to break the chair. The seat and back were plastic, but the legs were steel. The plastic didn't feel cheap, but in comparison to what he might have to break instead of this chair, it seemed like a much simpler task.

Casey teetered on his broken hand and rolled himself to a very uncomfortable position on his front. As his ankles were tied together with rope, he landed hard on his kneecaps, propping himself at an angle by his chin. He rolled his eyes in pain, grunted, then pushed himself as hard as he could to a kneeling position. He looked around. He needed some sort of stationary and secure metal or reinforced object, preferably attached to a wall.

There wasn't much in this room. There were curtains on 75 percent of the walls, and large, open doorways on the other two. Maybe he'd just have to find a way to smash the chair against the wall. If he could get the ropes off his ankles, he'd have a better chance at doing this. So he rolled over onto his back and stuck his feet as far up in front of him as he could. Altering the angle of a knot was the key to loosening it, and this knot did not compare to the chains binding him to the chair. He rubbed his ankles together, back and forth and up and down, finding the smallest movements becoming bigger as the slack caught inside the knot. In one final grunt, Casey pulled his legs apart and the rope fell to the ground. He laid his head on the cold floor for a moment, feeling the sweat drip down his forehead and back.

"Okay," he said, just barely over a whisper. His hoarse voice grunted and seethed out of his mouth in anger and annoyance. "What's next?"

He tilted his head from side to side and looked around the room again. Now that his legs were unbound, he seemed to be more open to trying a method that might free him from the chair. There was little likelihood that even if he could find the key to the chains he'd be able to use it, but if he could rip the legs off his chair, surely the chains would loosen to a point he could regain the use of his arms.

Using the broad force of his thighs and the incredible natural state of knees, he brought the chair to his side, his knees, and back to a sitting position, which was, undoubtedly, the most comfortable position of them all. Hunching over, he stood flat on his feet and moved to the nearest wall. It was still very dark in the room, but as he came closer he could tell, or feel, that the walls were wood. There was no hope of breaking his chair against wood walls.

He moved along the wall, a couple steps at a time. Every few seconds he'd wait and listen: for footsteps, voices, anything else. He heard a great deal, actually, but nothing in the near vicinity. A couple rooms away, or perhaps just down the hall, he heard many voices arguing, some were shouting. When he approached the gap in the wall that was the doorway, he peeked around it before quickly hurrying across the exposed room adjacent to the one he'd been in. When he reached the furthest wall, he looked back and realized that he'd been on a sort of stage, with all the curtains drawn. He lifted his eyes up and followed the curtains from high up all the way to the floor.

There it was. There was his way out. The crank, the old fashioned crank used to raise and lower the curtains, hidden initially from his sight by the odd setup of the rooms, was sturdy enough to break off the legs of his chair. The only worry, of course, would be the noise. But if the others kept screaming and hollering as they didn't Casey doubted he had anything to worry about.

He crossed a shorter span of the room and looked at the crank closely. It had probably sat here in the same place since the day the town was built. But this was the kind of material that never rusted or wore out. He turned around and tilted his body about 60 degrees, shoved the legs of the chair within the spokes of the large wheel, and taking a deep breath, Casey grimaced and spun his body to an upright position.

Something cracked, but nothing gave way. The pain from unrelenting chains digging into his upper arms coursed through his body. He cringed and dropped to his knees to catch his breath. He couldn't take deep breaths, as if the chains had actually tightened.

"Go to your happy place, Colonel," Casey told himself. "You can do this." He allowed himself to rest for a full thirty seconds, clearing his mind and returning himself to a peaceful core. He might not be able to lose the persistent anger always dictating his mood, but he certainly knew how to keep level about that anger. He focused it into solid breathing and, after his rest had lapsed, his breathing had returned to normal and the chains did not feel too tight.

Once more he tried to break the legs off the chair in the same way. This time, there were more cracks, more pain from the chains, but he was able to maintain his composure now. He was able to anticipate the pain. The third time he tried, the back plastic cracked. The fourth time he slipped and missed the turn entirely. But the fifth time he was lucky. His footing nearly gave way again, but he compensated by shoving himself backward into the crank. The chair leg popped inside a hole just as he turned and it tore off a piece of the seat as well as the legs on the left side of the chair.

He stood up straight and the chains fell to the floor in a very loud, clanging roar. For a minute he stood without moving or breathing. Listening to every sound that roved through the building. Not a beat seemed to have been missed. He breathed again and moved closer to the curtains. He had to operate under the assumption that The Pound was closely monitoring the building for intruders. He needed different clothes and he needed to stay out of sight, figure out what was going on, and try to get a message to the CIA.

The curtain blocked the stage from the view of a small, steeply inclined studio audience setting. It was cast in darkness, save for the glowing red exit lights at the rear of the seats. He moved along the wall and up the steps, listening all the while. Before leaving the room, he felt the door, felt the handle, and looked around. It didn't seem to be booby trapped, but he had to be prepared for anything.

Slowly, he moved the handle down and pushed the door open.

* * *

Faye would never admit it to anyone, but she was nervous. She sat in the row of seats closest to the cockpit, the chair next to her empty. The cabin was full of agents ready to parachute into the small and unassuming town of Chester, Montana, and she would land with the plane and accompany the non-field agents to the CIA base on-site. A base that hadn't been used in nearly twenty years.

Of course it had to be her husband who reactivated it. The CIA had been aware of his presence there, but under her own strict orders, Stephen Bartowski was left alone.

"Agent Halloway…?" a voice shook Faye from her reverie. She looked round and her eyes traveled up the young man now standing at her side.

"Yes, Agent Jones?" she asked, clearing her throat.

"We are ten minutes from the drop," he said, standing at attention. "Are there any last minute instructions you have?"

Faye shook her head. "The plan is the same, agent. We secure the town, making its citizens our top priority. Hopefully the agents can take care of themselves and their family, because our top priority is stopping the terrorists."

"Yes ma'am," said Agent Jones. He left.

Faye didn't know whether the agents could handle themselves. If Colonel Casey was captured, and Chuck was suffering ill-effects of the Pound's virus, that left a rookie agent, who's loyalties were questionable, and Chuck's girlfriend. In the brief amount of time Faye had spent with Sarah Walker, she thought the woman capable and very skilled, but now the woman had to protect a whole band of civilians, take care of Chuck, and deal with a moralistically compromising agent. Her hopes were not high, no, but they were not depleted.

A great gust of wind blew in and Faye once again woke from deep thought. She turned and looked down the back end of the plane. The agents were getting ready to jump. She stood up and walked to them.

"We're jumping in 2 second intervals. Open your chutes at 2000 feet and remember your landmark. Stick with your partner and we'll switch the radios to channel 13 on the ground. Shoot anyone who points a gun at you." Agent Jones was shouting over the tumultuous noise of the plane's engines. When he was finished, he pointed at the two agents in the back, a man and a woman, and waved his fingers in quick succession toward the open hatch. They nodded, took several steps back, and the woman jumped out first.

When it was only Agent Jones left, Faye grabbed his arm. "Who is jumping with you?" she shouted.

"No one, my directives are different than theirs," he shouted. "You instructed me to go to the base of Stephen Bartowski."

"But you should bring a partner," shouted Faye.

"There's no one here," he said. "I'll be fine, ma'am. I am highly trained."

She didn't let go of his arm. "Do you know who Stephen Bartowski is?"

"Father of Agent Charles Bartowski…former weapons and technology specialist with the CIA," Jones shouted, shrugging. "A bunch of other stuff. I've read his file."

Faye stepped closer, looking directly into the young man's dark eyes. "He's my husband," she said. "I'm coming with you."

Jones blinked a couple times, confused, and then surprised, and finally landing on shocked. "Agent Halloway, that isn't advisable," he shouted. "We need to stick to the original plan."

"My new plan is to take down these sons of bitches," she shouted, her brow furrowing. "Besides, I am highly trained."

Jones rolled his eyes, then grinned. "There's another chute over there," he shouted, pointing to the corner. "Let me help you get it on."

Together, they fitted Faye into the vest and did the checks twice. Jones put a thumb up, looking questioning at her. She nodded and returned the thumb up.

"Are you sure your family is worth this?" asked Jones, with an easy grin.

"This…" shouted Faye, "this and so much more."

"So you are Mary Bartowski?" asked Jones, raising an eyebrow.

"Can we talk about this later?" said Faye, smiling. "For now, it's still Agent Halloway."

"You're the boss," said Agent Jones. He saluted, took a couple steps backward, and fell out of the plane. Faye smiled, then followed him.

* * *

Sarah slowed to a walk, then to a complete stop. Chuck looked around.

"Sarah? What is it? We can't stop here, it's not safe," said Chuck, rushing back to her.

"No, Chuck, look up," she said. "He looked up, then turned on the spot to get a better view. "Do you think they are CIA?"

Chuck couldn't make out the symbols on the parachuters, and didn't want to stick around long enough to find out. "When did I become the one focused on the mission at hand?" he grumbled to himself. "Sarah, if they aren't CIA, then we're in deeper crap than we were before. If they are CIA, they'll expect us to take care of our people and ourselves. Either way…we need to get into that station!"

Sarah shook her head. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Okay, where are we?"

"We're close," said Chuck. "We just need a way through that alley and into the building without being seen." He pointed in the direction he was referring to. "Any ideas?"

"Well, do we know where your father hid cameras?" asked Sarah. "Or…what about security cameras placed by the city?"

"I very briefly saw my dad's layout…" said Chuck, scratching his head. "And there was one on each of the four telephone poles surrounding the station. I don't know about the city's surveillance, though."

Sarah thought quickly. "Okay, well, if we assume that the city is obeying the law, then they can only place surveillance cameras on park entrances, building entrances, and street lights. So we can assume they are trying to keep people indoors and, if not, capture them before they get too close to the television station."

"So stay off the streets, don't go into the park, and don't use a door to get into the building," said Chuck.

"And avoid your dad's cameras too," said Sarah. "If they noticed them…there is a great likelihood that they tapped into them, if at all possible."

Chuck drew in a deep breath opened his eyes wide and pursed his lips. "Alrighty then," he said. "Are we going to try flying?"

Sarah pointed to the sky without looking up. "Chuck, we have a distraction," she said. "Let's use it. Whether they are with us or against us, the agents inside the station are going to be thinking about them landing, not two people trying to sneak into their base. Let's circle the building, find its weakness, and get Casey the hell out of there!"

Chuck stared at her. "I knew there was a reason I love you so much," he said, smirking.

"Ha ha," said Sarah. She hit him playfully on the chest, then took the lead.

Crouching low, they moved in between houses, avoiding streets and open spaces, and doubling back to make sure they weren't being followed. Chuck threw Sarah down to the ground once, when two agents came marching past with non-standard militaristic weapons. Chuck flashed on the weapon and he felt a numb pain begin to gnaw at his temples. He ignored it and helped Sarah up from the ground; he had, afterall, unceremoniously thrown her down there thirty seconds ago.

She tugged on him and pointed toward the main entrance of the station. Several people were filing out of the building, looking around and pointing their guns intentionally around the perimeter of the station's property. The sun was beginning to set and the parachuters from the sky had all landed now. This was the best time of day for the surprise attack, and Chuck was starting to believe, based on the behavior of the Pound agents, that the incoming personnel were the good guys. The agents seemed to be all out of sorts.

"We should circle around to the back…" said Chuck, pressing his lips close to Sarah's ear. "They are moving away from that area."

She shook her head and, as he had done, put her lips close to his ear. "Look closer to the road…off by the small hill," she whispered.

His eyes roamed the darkening grass and low bushes to the road just beyond the building's foundation. Sure enough, three shadows lay crouched, their weapons roaming the area.

"Okay," Chuck said, mentally kicking himself. "Scratch that plan."

"Come on, Chuck, we just need to take out those three, get their weapons, and go in through the back," Sarah whispered. "I think you're right, that they're moving away from the back. So as long as we can make the jump on them, we will have a significant edge."

He looked over at her, his breath catching in his throat. The light from the fading sun cast a beautiful shadow over her face and soft features. She raised an eyebrow at his look, and tilted her head in curiosity.

"I haven't seen that look in a long time," she said, smiling.

"Is everything easier for you now that I can actually be of use on these missions?" he asked, seriously.

Sarah sighed. "Chuck, this really isn't the time."

"I was just wondering," said Chuck, shrugging. "Okay, how about I circle around through the houses. Did you grab a silencer from the cabinet?"

"No," said Sarah, her eyes wide. "Did you?"

Chuck swallowed hard. "Yes…" he said. He studied Sarah's expression carefully, what he could see of it, anyway. "Look, I'm only giving this to you because you are the better shot, by far, and because I am less than 100 percent. I'm not trying to…"

"Chuck, just give it to me," she said, her expression unchanging. She was not upset, or offended, she expected this exchange, and wanted it. "It's okay, I need to do it."

"Okay, wait for my gunshot," he said. "I'll shoot off in the opposite direction, to draw their attention away from the direction you're coming. I will shoot them if I think you've been compromised."

"Deal," she said. "This is almost over, Chuck. We'll get out of here."

"I know we will," he said, grinning. "It's us." He stood into a low crouch and ran back around the houses, slowly weaving through the small and squished together houses. The yards were small and the grass was brown, random yard tools laid strewn around in most backyards and bikes and toys were dropped around in such a way that it looked like their users had vanished out of thin air.

It struck him, then, that the people of this town had taken to their basements. Something he had not thought about before. After they saw the transmission from the television station, the one where Irina had announced the intention of terrorists' small-town take-over, the people of this town had probably run for cover. Now the remnants of the usually lively inhabitants were like ghosts, only the inanimate evidence of their former selves remained.

There were more Pound agents toward the back of the television station than Chuck had anticipated. He was forced to dive behind bushes several times as the agents jogged passed, talking in crisp Russian. Chuck suppressed the Intersect from downloading the English translation of their words by thinking about Ellie, distracting the computer in his brain, but he thought he recognized a code name, _Hummingbird_, yet he couldn't quite make the connection.

In one particular house there were no bushes whatsoever, so Chuck took refuge on the back porch, hiding behind the large Foreman grill. The sun had set completely now, only a purplish-orange tint glowed above the treetops and the distant mountains. When the Pound agents had stopped, looked at the porch curiously, and then continued on, the porch door opened behind him.

"Pst," said a voice. Chuck looked around. A man, most likely in his mid forties, was motioning to him from behind the screen door. Chuck crawled to the door on his stomach, slowly so that he wouldn't make a sound. "You shouldn't be outside, son…" the man said, kneeling down to whisper to Chuck.

"It's okay, sir," said Chuck, lifting himself off the ground. "I'm with the CIA. Everything is going to be okay."

"The CIA?" asked the man. He studied Chuck closely. "Who are those people we saw on the television?"

Chuck drew in a deep breath. "Dangerous people," he said. "Look, sir, I need to keep moving along. Keep your family in the basement…keep an ear on the radio. We will notify all civilians when the threat has passed."

"How?" the man asked, his eyes wide.

"We'll tap into the a.m. frequency," said Chuck. "Regardless of what station you're listening to, you'll be able to hear our message."

"Thank you," said the man. "My name is Andy Calhoun, my family and I thank you for your service to our country." The man saluted. Chuck returned it.

The brief interaction with Andy revitalized Chuck. It gave him a deeper purpose again. He wasn't just doing this for his family, and for his and Sarah's future, not just to save Casey from their ruthless hands, or to remove a dangerous threat from the world. He was doing this to put hope back into the small-town citizens like Andy Calhoun and his family. It was all worth it again.

Finally in position, Chuck surveyed the small hill where the Pound agents hid. They were not well concealed, but, in reality, that did not entirely seem to be their intention. They were guarding the back, and at the same time had a very clear view of the sides of the building. Their position was ideal. Off to the left he saw movement, but only because he was watching for it. Sarah was moving along the side of the road quickly, and had Chuck not been keeping an eye out for her, he would not have seen her. Which was probably a good thing. She was almost to the attack position. When her movements stopped, he'd give her his signal.

She dropped down in front of a pillar at the corner of the street, which was nearly entirely concealed by a tree, and stopped moving. He checked his surroundings, pointed his gun in the air, off in the opposite direction of the hidden agents, and pulled the trigger.

The agents jumped to their feet and hauled ass in Chuck's direction. There was a small gust of air and one agent went down. He let out a grunt and collapsed to the road. One of the other two agents still on their feet stopped and looked around. Another gust of wind, and a small _zippp_ sound brought that agent to the ground as well. The third agent drew his weapon and turned on the spot, training it on the perimeter of the field surrounding the television station.

The man's radio went off. "We heard a gunshot, is everyone okay?"

The man lifted on hand to his radio, but before he could answer, he too fell to the ground. Chuck ran out from his hiding spot and saw a clean bullet hold through his neck. The man was still alive, panting and gasping. Chuck picked up the agent's radio.

"All clear, the rookie accidentally shot off his side arm," said Chuck, in a low growl to disguise his voice.

"Roger that," said the voice. "Resume your position. We're still en route."

Chuck clipped the radio to his belt and turned it down. Sarah joined him. "You make it look so easy," said Chuck, still staring down at the Pound agent.

"It's theory," said Sarah. "Point and shoot. It's the end of the bullet that gives me the most grief."

"What should we do with him?" asked Chuck.

"The shot I had on him, right to the neck, is a slower death than I like, but he doesn't have long," she said. "We're CIA, Chuck, not assassins. Let's get going."

Chuck nodded and followed her down the small embankment. They crouched as they ran across the field, holstering the newly acquired weapons from the former Pound agents. From the look of it, they had two options. A fire escape to the roof or a back door.

"Fire escape?" asked Chuck.

"Yeah, we'll be able to use the ducts," said Sarah.

Chuck jumped up and hit the lever to release the bottom half of the ladder. It clattered down and he cringed. Holding it steady, he let Sarah go up first, then followed close behind. It was a long way to the roof, and he felt the muscles on his arms strain during the last twenty steps. But once level with the roof, and with Sarah's help, he managed to roll over the ledge onto the secure rooftop in one piece.

"You okay?" asked Sarah.

Chuck panted. "How the heck do you do this?" He groaned.

Sarah laughed. "Come on, we're so close." She helped him to his feet and he stumbled behind her as they looked for an air vent.

"What are we going to do if Casey isn't here?" asked Chuck.

"_Something_ is here," said Sarah. "This building wouldn't be so heavily guarded if it didn't have some value to them."

Together they pried the outer vent off its hinges, which wasn't as strenuous as a task as they'd seen in other situations. As far as small towns go, this one was not concerned with people breaking in through the air ducts.

From there on it was simpler. The ducts were not a complex system of air distribution, as the map inside the first drop made very clear. The map was more a diagram for electricians, but Chuck recognized the basic schematic, and felt their best option was to land in the middle of a hallway, toward the center of the building. Before dropping in, they'd be able to listen to what was going on below and decide whether that was their best option.

As they crawled, they heard a lot of noise. People were shouting and yelling over one another, but it seemed to all be coming from one room. They crept along, much more slowly than they probably needed to, and tried to hear the voices reverberating through the vents.

"Can you understand what they're saying?" asked Sarah.

"I'm trying as hard as I can to keep the Intersect from translating," said Chuck.

"That's probably a good idea," said Sarah. "I didn't know you could do that."

"I didn't either," said Chuck. "I guess I never really tried _not_ to."

"Are you in pain?" she asked.

"Not a lot," he said. "It's just a constant headache." He stopped moving. "Alright, we're here." He lifted the large round vent off its setting and peered down into the hallway. Only a couple lights were on, but the hall was desolate. He pulled his head out of the hole and looked at Sarah. "We're clear," he said. "I'll go down first." He unholstered his weapons and set them to the side.

She nodded. He swung his legs down and landed quietly on the tile. Looking up, he reached to take the weapons from Sarah, holstering his three and cradling hers as she dropped out of the duct and onto the tile next to him.

"Where to, now?" she asked, taking her guns back.

"We move along the hallway, take anyone out, look for Casey, and figure out what the heck is going on in here."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Thanks for summing that up."

"Anytime," said Chuck, holding back a grin.

There was a noise, then, behind a door just down the hall. Both of them, in a flash, whipped out their side arms and aimed it at the door, taking several steps closer to quickly eliminate the surprise. The handle turned and the door opened.

Casey stepped into the hallway. Blood was smeared across his face and his hair looked drenched. His shirt clung to his skin and his arm hung loosely at his side, his left hand was purple and limp and swollen to the size of a grapefruit.

"Casey?" Sarah and Chuck dropped their guns.

"Are we glad to see you!" said Chuck.

"Are you alright?" asked Sarah.

"I'll be fine," said Casey, nodding. "What is going on out here?"

"We just dropped in, actually," said Chuck. "We're assuming this is the Pound's main operation base."

"Before we got in here, we saw several people parachuting in," said Sarah. "We're thinking they're CIA."

"Let's hope so," said Casey. "Where are the others? Paul?"

"I think Paul's injuries were too extensive," said Sarah. "He didn't come with the others. Chuck's dad and sister, and Devon and Anthony are all at the terminal, waiting for us to return with you."

"We're taking this place down before we go," said Casey. "These guys aren't organized at all."

"Have you been able to determine their end game?" asked Sarah.

"I've only been free from my binds for about twenty minutes," said Casey. "If that."

Chuck removed the M1A scout rifle from the lock on his vest, the one he'd taken from a Pound agent, and gave it to Casey. "Here," he said.

"No," said Casey, grunting and shaking his head. "I can't shoot that with my hand. Give me your side arm." Chuck nodded grimly and gave Casey the 9mm Beretta. "Did you have a plan?"

"Go ahead, Chuck, tell Casey your brilliant plan," said Sarah, raising an eyebrow.

Chuck rolled his eyes. "We didn't really have a real plan," said Chuck. "We had no way to anticipate what was going on in here."

"Okay," said Casey. "From what I've been able to hear and feel out, everyone is centralized to one area." He nodded down the hall. "In that general direction…"

"Let's move," said Chuck. He took the lead and moved down the hallway.

"I've got the only silencer," said Sarah to Casey. "Let me go ahead of you." Casey nodded, then turned his back to her and walked backwards down the hall.

"What do you hear?" asked Chuck over his shoulder.

"Nothing immediate," said Sarah. "Go right, though."

"Yeah, okay," said Chuck. He paused at the end of the wall, peeked his head around the corner, and then whipped his weapon around to lead them down the hall again. The sounds of shouting and clamor were getting closer.

A door at the end of the hall opened and two agents ran out of the room, Sarah spun around Chuck and got them both squarely in the throats. They dropped to the floor.

Chuck whistled lowly. "You know, we shouldn't be all guns-a-blazin', Sarah. What if someone walked out of these rooms that is on our side? Like Casey?"

"We can't take that risk," said Sarah. "We don't have bulletproof vests." Chuck bit his lip. There was shouting coming from the room.

"Where did Banche and Cliff go?" shouted the voice. "Weren't they going to take The Herring?"

Chuck and Sarah looked at one another. This was it. The moment the people inside that room looked out into the hallway, they'd see that their men were down. Another man ran out of the room with the gun Chuck recognized as The Herring, the nasty rifle that started this mess in the first place.

"What…?" the man stared down at his fallen comrades, then looked down the hall at the small band of CIA agents. "Intruders!" he called out. He aimed the Herring at them. "Don't move!"

"Sarah, get behind me…" said Chuck.

"Don't be a fool," said Sarah. "That gun won't do anything to me."

"We don't know that," he said. They both kept their weapons trained on the agent. "We know how it affects me, and we know we can beat it, so just let me do this."

"Stop talking," shouted the man. "Shut up!"

"We are CIA," said Chuck. "If you surrender now, you will be spared."

"Surrender?" the man laughed. "Right."

"There are a dozen agents surrounding this compound as we speak. There is no way you are getting out of here alive," said Chuck.

"Do you have any idea how many agents _we_ have, Charles?" asked the man. "Yeah, that's right, I know who you are, Mr. Intersect."

Chuck was caught off guard. "Excuse me?"

"Chuck…" said Sarah, under her breath. She pushed him aside and shot the guy.

"They know Chuck is the Intersect," said Casey. "I knew it…but it's weird to have it confirmed."

"That only means one thing," said Sarah. "None of them can get out of here." Chuck grimaced and bolted for the door. "No, Chuck! What are you doing?"

He slid into the doorway, changed directions and darted into the room. He let the Intersect do its thing and show him how to handle the weapon in his hand. He looked around the room, at the men and women positioned at computers around the room. As quickly as he could, he assessed the layout of the room. Two guards on either side, one side arm, one M1A in each of their hands, pointed at the ground. Twenty people at computers, no visible weapons. No Irina. No Jill. He kept his gun trained on the two guards on the left, and Sarah, close behind him, at the guards on the right. Casey walked down the center of them and surveyed the room.

"So who the hell wants to tell us what's going on?" Casey shouted.

* * *

AN: I'm antsy for a little Chuck/Sarah time...but there's a little mess I got us into that we kinda got to work our way out of :) Thank you for reading.


	22. Circling

**Chuck vs. the Virus**

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**AN: I probably should do a more thorough editing of this chapter before posting, but I really wanted to get it up. If anyone spots big inconsistencies or grammar issues, let me know and I'll make changes. Always want it to be readable! =)**

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**Chapter 21: Circling**

As Chuck looked more closely at the operatives sitting at the desks, he saw something he hadn't noticed on the first look: they were frightened. The guards had immediately trained their guns on him, and him alone, even though all three of them had weapons.

"It's Chuck Bartowski," one woman whispered to her neighbor. She pointed at the screen of the laptop in front of her.

"Look, everyone: we don't want any trouble," said Chuck, putting up his hands.

"Chuck!" Sarah whispered harshly. "What are you doing?"

"You don't just surrender to terrorists," Casey whispered under his breath.

Chuck made a _zip it!_ noise with his tongue and lips and then laid his gun down on the ground. "We aren't here to hurt you, just here to _stop_ you," said Chuck. "Irina has led you down a dark, dark path that you cannot get out of without our help." He glanced at Sarah out of the corner of his eye. He knew that negotiation was his go-to, that he'd rather surrender himself than witness gunfire, but he really thought he could get through to these people.

Every eye in the room was on him. He took a step further into the room, keeping his hands aloft. "Irina wants to start World War three…" he said, taking the time to look at each of their faces. "Don't you see that? She knew chasing the three of us here, to this nowhere Podunk city would force the CIA to hunt us down and ultimately fight you."

"We're in the middle of nowhere, as you say, Mr. Bartowski," said one of the men from the back in a thick Russian accent. "So why would America care if some town gets terrorized as long as the terrorists are caught?"

"Because it doesn't matter _where_ it happens, if I am killed, America will retaliate," said Chuck.

"Chuck!" Casey and Sarah shouted at the same time. The guards, whose grips on their guns had been loosening, tightened up and locked in on the armed agents.

"No," said Chuck, half turning to face them. "Let me do this."

Sarah's eyes were wide with unbridled fear. She searched his face, searching for something that would force him to give up this act. But he looked away.

"Why are you so special?" asked the woman who had spoken before. The one who had known his name.

"What do you know about me?" asked Chuck.

"Chuck Bartowski. 29. Rogue CIA agent. Dangerous. Trained to kill someone in over 500 ways…" said the woman, blinking rapidly. "You are the Intersect agent. You betrayed your country."

"Is that what all of you have been told?" asked Chuck. Most of them nodded.

The guard on the left lowered his gun slightly. "We were told the Intersect holds information that your government stole from Russia, and that you are involved with stealing secrets from governments all over the world."

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Isn't that what all _spies_ do?"

The guard moved his sight to Chuck. "So you admit it?"

Chuck held up his hands again. "I admit that I have a lot in my brain that even I don't know is there, but the Intersect was designed to help regular people make a difference. The essential makeup of the Intersect is intrinsically linked to pursuing peace!"

"How does that make sense?" asked Casey under his breath.

"I don't get it," the guard admitted.

"The Intersect allows me to access information _on the go_. Think about it. It's like having Google in your brain. Except the database is filled with government secrets…" he said. "The branches of our government needed a safe place to communicate, and they ended up doing that through me."

"That does not seem very wise," said the man in the back. "You are human. You make mistakes. You could be killed at any moment."

"That's the nature of the job," said Chuck. "_I_ am not dangerous though. I _am_ trained to kill someone in over 500 ways, but that doesn't mean I _will_. I use the Intersect for defense, not offense." He took a cautious step forward. "I can't steal information."

"Irina said you stole information from us," said one of the agents behind computers. "We are here to take it back."

"If I knew what you were talking about, I'd be able to help…but I didn't steal any secrets," said Chuck.

The agents looked at one another. The fear had left them and was replaced with complete confusion.

* * *

Agent Halloway and Agent Jones hit the ground in the backyard of a family with a large swing set, so rusted from age and weather it was clearly unsafe to play on. The sandbox next to it looked more like a kitty litter box than a child's play area, and even in the blackness of the early night Mary Bartowski could see imaginary children playing joyfully in the backyard, using what they knew to be happy, watched closely by loving parents.

Both agents zipped their chutes back into their packs and removed their weapons quickly from their holsters. The light of the moon cast them in full relief and they ran to the side of the house for cover of complete darkness. Raising their weapons, they swept the perimeter of their barrier with night vision goggles and nodded at one another. Coast was clear.

"This is team leader, please copy if you read me," said Mary into her walkie.

"This is red captain. All accounted for," said a scratchy voice.

"This is blue captain, we're missing Boz, but I'm pretty sure he landed off target," said another voice.

"Copy that," said Mary. "Move toward target and assist the CIA assets already on the ground."

"10-4," replied the captains.

"What are we going to do?" asked Jones, under his breath.

"We're going to find my husband," said Mary. She began moving before Jones could respond. Jones had to take a running jump to match her stride and they both crept along the street at a low crouch, side arms extended at the ready, and their night vision goggles activated and alert.

"Do we know where anyone is?" asked Jones, still in a low whisper.

"We've got to assume the Pound has agents within a base that they've set up locally and that they are patrolling the outer rims of that base," said Mary. "Where that base is, we do not know." She stopped suddenly and crouched down as low as she could. Jones stopped and looked around and saw the movement she'd seen as well. He tapped her shoulder and motioned to the bush just a couple yards away. The crawled toward it and peered through the branches.

About a dozen yards away a head bobbed just beyond the road, down the cliff into the yard of the town's only television station. After another minute, the head emerged from the cliff and the figure's legs swung up onto the road.

"All clear on the west side," said the man. "Kir and Maks are dead. Taras is getting close." The walkie the man was holding responded to his comment, but Mary and Jones were out of range.

In another moment, the man fell to the ground very suddenly, arms splayed. From out of nowhere rushed the blue team leader accompanied by one more of his team. They quickly rolled the body of the Pound agent off the road and jumped out of sight.

Subtly, Mary pointed to Jones the deeply dark figures moving toward the television station from the opposite side of the field. One man reached the fire escape and waited for his teammates, who were covering his back as they rushed to join him.

"The fire escape was down," said Mary. "The CIA agents may have entered the building through that way."

"Why would they be going _into_ the building?" asked Jones. "I was under the impression that they had been captured."

"We are unsure of what the precise situation is, Agent Jones," said Mary, firmly. "What we do know is that the Pound needed a base when they arrived to capture the Intersect agent, and in order to tap into the American satellites, all they needed was an access point where they could run interference."

"So the CIA agents may have gone in to recover the Intersect?" asked Jones.

"We don't know," said Mary. "At this point it is all conjecture." She stood up, cautiously looking around. "Let's keep moving."

Jones followed her progress down the road, away from the television station. "Where are we going?"

"To Stephen's base," said Mary.

"Was a base authorized for this location?"

"That is irrelevant. Stephen has been off grid for nearly two decades. Don't forget that while Stephen is formerly CIA, he is accompanied by three civilians," said Mary. "I assume that whatever Agents Bartowski, Walker, Casey, and Paul are up to, they brought the civilians to Stephen's base."

"How do you know where it is?" asked Jones.

"I know my husband," said Mary, simply. She hushed him, making it perfectly clear she did not want to continue this conversation. He walked in silence behind her, trying to keep his eyes and ears alert to any motion happening around him.

"I assume by now the Pound agents have left their former posts of taking control of the town," said Mary, ducking into a partially-enclosed yard and moving more quickly along the exposed path to the front entrance of the dreadful-looking house. "The town is so deserted I can only imagine they residents have taken cover."

"Because of the broadcast?" asked Jones.

Mary nodded. She pointed at her eyes, then at him, and then behind him, indicated he was to follow her in with her back to her, both covering as much angle as they could. She tried the door handle. It was unlocked.

"This can't be good..." said Mary, so quietly Jones did not hear her. She turned the knob and opened the door.

The room was dark and empty. They turned slowly on the spot, once both were inside the room, and when Mary's eyes fell on the smashed workstation, with multiple surveillance screens shooting flashes of electrical charges from fraying wires, she dropped her gun.

"They've already come and gone," said Mary.

"How do you know they're not dead?" asked Jones.

"They don't want them dead," said Mary. "At least not all of them. They need them as hostages, or to use as leverage."

"Agent Halloway?" said Jones.

"What is it?"

"Look at this..." he walked away from her and stood in front of an empty doorway. If the wall hadn't been smashed in, there might not have been any sign that the entrance to the basement existed. Mary joined him at his side and peered down. A lone light somewhere out of sight made drifting light motions on the wall.

"If anyone is down there, show yourself," Mary shouted. "This is the CIA." She removed her night vision goggles, crouched down and trained her weapon on the area immediately in front of her. She led the way down the steps, Jones walking cautiously behind her, with the majority of his back to the basement. She moved to the left and Jones to the right when they hit the cement floor at the bottom.

"All clear," said Jones. He circled around underneath the stairwell, examining the walls and shelves. "This place looks like it's been ransacked."

"It is definitely Stephen's base," said Mary. "Here is one of the agents, he's injured." Jones stopped looking through the things on one of the counters and hurried over to where Mary crouched over a bed. "He's been bandaged up, and his pulse is so slow he must be under heavy sedation."

"The doctors?" Jones asked.

"I'd assume so," said Mary. "We are still assuming that there are three."

"What does all this mean?" asked Jones.

"I'm not sure yet," said Mary. She stood up and looked around. The place was torn apart, and more so than the general disarray of living alone. This was a bunker, not a home; if anything, Stephen used this basement as a last resort.

"This is not where Stephen lived," said Mary. "He would have had a place of his own. There are too many medical supplies and heavy equipment for it to be a permanent residence. Stephen is paranoid, but not paranoid enough to live in a bunker." She walked around the room, eyeing the walls, tilting the strange equipment lying about. There were broken computer monitors, empty consoles, bicycle wheels and chains; there were bags of clothing and Christmas boxes, but nothing that seemed familiar to her. Nothing here was Stephens. It was all props.

"What are you looking for?" asked Jones.

"Stephen has a home off-site, which means that this safe house has a panic room," said Mary.

"Do you think they're in there?"

"No."

"Why not? Doesn't it seem likely given the state of the rest of this place?"

"The injured CIA agent is out on the bed, fully taken care of, which means the building was attacked before the agent was given medical care. It also means that someone had to be in here, post-attack, to tend to the injured man. The chances of one or more of the doctors surviving is very good, due to the quality of care the man has been given. The chances of more than one doctor surviving is even greater because if they left the agent here, alone, they would have left anyone else who was injured or dead."

"Couldn't they have just gone back into the panic room?" asked Jones.

"After they came out of the panic room, once the attackers had left, and attended to the injured agent, Stephen would have realized he couldn't help Agent Bartowski and would have needed to find another place from which he could operate...and help the agents out in some way." She paused, staring at one section of the wall for a long moment. "If they'd gone back into the panic room, they'd have noticed us and come out."

"So they went to his house?"

Mary gave him a firm smile. Jones smiled a bit sheepishly, then permitted Mary to finish. "His home would be unsecured, and he would not have everything he needed at his house in order to help the CIA agents move around town under the Pound's radar. So they went somewhere else." She tapped her chin.

"There isn't much in the way of communications or high-volume server control in this town," said Jones. "What about the airport? It's small, but it would have to communicate with other airports, planes in the sky, and the like."

Mary snapped her fingers. "That's got to be it. I can't think of anything else around that would qualify."

* * *

Stephen Bartowski sat at desk with four consoles, each with two monitors apiece. The desk overlooked the single landing strip in the small town's airport, and beyond that the setting sun, which had been reduced to a purple haze between the peaks of the distant mountain. If the threat of his children and country didn't hang in the balance at that moment, he could have sat and stared out across the silence all night.

But there was no silence. There was no stillness in Chester that evening. The purple haze was crowded with his thoughts rushing through like wind turbines, rapidly changing mere thought into actions that exploded from his fingers. His fingers jumped from keyboard to keyboard, manipulating each machine to do his bidding as he scoured the available data to determine how best to help his son.

To his dismay, the server and network of the television station hadn't been set up precisely as he'd have preferred. It frustrated him more than normal to think that whoever set them up with their system originally had taken shortcuts around actually completing the network in the correct way because of their doubt of the need for the full setup. He pounded his fist on the desk several times.

Ellie paced behind him, nervously. She jumped every time her father pounded his fist, and then glanced a worried look in her husband's direction. Devon and Anthony had posted themselves at the two entrances to the control room, listening for any movement. The only weapons they had were the two that Chuck and Sarah could part with; both being relatively pacifist, neither was well trained in how to handle the small handguns. However, having a defense at all was all that Ellie cared about.

And she couldn't believe it herself; she couldn't believe she was all right with her husband wielding a gun. But the thought of what laid beyond those doors was more stressful and disconcerting than holding back on her need to defend those she loved.

"Your pacing is not helping, dear," said Stephen, without looking away from his screens.

Ellie paused and held her breath. "Dad, we need to do something…"

"We can't do anything, Eleanor," said Stephen. "No one can except for Chuck and Sarah."

Ellie crossed her arms. After learning about who her brother was and what he can do, she had a greater hope for their little excursion; but after the events of the last three hours, her hope had turned to complete fear. Chuck couldn't handle the Intersect anymore.

Then Stephen stopped typing and sat back in his chair. Ellie stepped forward. "Dad…? What is it?"

"I'm in…" he said, still staring straight ahead.

"You're in? As in, you broke into the Pound's…whatever you call it?"

"Yes…" he began typing again.

"What are you going to do?" asked Ellie.

"Shut them down. Redirect all their communication and satellite data to the CIA…give Chuck and Sarah a chance to get out of there."

"Isn't that dangerous, though?"

"Of course not. It's more dangerous to let them keep doing what they're doing," said Stephen.

"But Chuck and Sarah are going inside to shut them down, if they're inside when the whole system is shut down, won't they be trapped by the Pound's agents?"

Stephen turned to look at her. "I never thought of that…if they are all trying to escape the building at the same time, they might not realize it's already been shut down."

"Can't you just monitor and redirect…without shutting them down? Or figure out what they want?"

"They want something out of Chuck's head, we know that much."

"But _what_ do they want?"

"Well, I can't pinpoint it exactly, but…I assume it is whatever information Chuck acquired while he was infected with the virus," said Stephen. His voice was soft, but it carried. It turned Ellie silent. "And I doubt it's in a place that he can access easily."

From somewhere far away, they all heard a sound of movement. Instinctively, Ellie crouched down and knelt by her father. To her right she watched Devon also get lower to the ground and train his gun on the blackness draped beyond the doorway. Ellie leaned her head against her father's chair, even from this distance she could hear Devon breathing. His breaths were short and quick and ended in a sharp hiccup.

Stephen didn't seem to notice anything.

"Stephen?" a voice called from somewhere beyond the room. Devon stood up quickly and stumbled backwards. The voice was almost on top of him. He kept his shaking hand aimed at chest level in front of him. Through the doorway stepped a woman, slim and clothed in black. In one hand she held a badge that only became completely visible in the almost non-existent light of the setting sun.

But Stephen had turned in his chair, slowly, skeptically; and Ellie had risen from her fetal position on the floor, drenched in unbelief.

"Devon, put the gun down. Anthony!" Ellie shouted.

Devon looked around at his wife, eyes wide. "What?"

"Hi Ellie. Stephen," said the woman, unmoving. Another figure had moved in behind her, his arms also raised.

"Mom?" said Ellie, still trying to completely conceptualize the moment.

Devon stood up straighter. "Wait, huh?"

"Mary, what are you doing here?" asked Stephen, nervously.

"We're a part of the CIA team that came to extract the agents that have supposedly been kidnapped by terrorists," said Mary. "I was the one who gave Agent Casey his mission, didn't he tell you?"

"No, he didn't," said Stephen.

"Where are we at?" asked Mary, lowering her hands and walking toward him. She brushed Ellie's arm with her gloved fingers, gave her a warm smile, and left Ellie standing speechless where she had been, wondering what in the world had just happened.

"The virus is out of Chuck's head," said Stephen. "They escaped from the on-board facility the Pound had set up in the airplane, and they are now breaking into the television station to rescue Agent Casey and breakdown the Pound's means of communication from within."

"Chuck went into the Pound's center of command? How is he even on his feet?" asked Mary. She stood right next to Stephen now.

He turned his head so they were looking right at one another, and Ellie wondered how long it had been since either had been that close to one another. "He's an extraordinary man," said Stephen, with as much bitterness as pride.

"I've already got agents inside the station," said Mary. "They already have backup."

"This seems pretty cut-and-dry, don't you think?" asked Agent Jones, leaning in to the conversation.

Mary looked at him with a firm expression. "It isn't over until it's over, Jones." She turned to Ellie. "Ellie, my dear, it is so good to see you…all grown up…so mature. We just don't have time to catch up right now."

Ellie swallowed hard and shook her head, understanding. "No, no, of course. We need to get Chuck and Sarah out. That is my priority…but I can't do anything."

"We need an escape plan," said Mary. "The CIA plane will be landing shortly."

"Thank God," said Devon. "Chuck was going to have to fly us out of here otherwise."

Mary turned, as though just remembering there were others in the room. "I'm sorry, are you one of the doctors that was also kidnapped from the hospital?"

"Well, not kidnapped, of course," said Ellie. "Mom, this is my husband, Devon. And Anthony…Anthony is a doctor at the hospital as well."

"It's good to meet you both," said Mary. "No, Chuck will not need to fly us out of here. But we cannot leave until we've secured the terrorists. The Air Force is only an hour away, and once they are here, we will need to assure the local citizens of their safety before leaving." She turned back to Stephen. "Which begs the question: why Chester, Montana?"

"Why not?" asked Stephen.

"Do you know what the Pound wants out of Chuck's head?" asked Ellie.

"While Chuck was at my base in Rio, he was able to suck all the data out of the CIA computers," said Mary. "He has a great deal of secrets in his head as it is, but when new data is added on top of the existing data without being encoded as Intersect data, it begins corrupting the source data and causing the Intersect to behave irrationally and unpredictably."

"Such as downloading excessive data?" asked Devon.

"Yes, that would be one of them," said Mary. "But now that the virus is out, I assume that the only reason he's on his feet is because…no, I take that back. I don't understand how he's on his feet."

"Antonín Dvořák," said Stephen.

Mary blinked. "Sorry?"

"Antonín Dvořák the composer," said Stephen. "I played the last three minutes of Adagio." He shook his head. "When I encoded the first Intersect, I used a variety of Dvořák's compositions as the underlying wave pattern. Playing a couple minutes of a song, under concentration, can permit a little separation between the brain of the human and the brain of the Intersect long enough for the brain to refresh. Of course, it's not a permanent fix, but it will last for a couple hours. I guess it all depends on how much information he downloads."

"That is brilliant, dad," said Ellie. "Why didn't you just explain that to Chuck?"

"I didn't think anyone cared about the reason behind it," said Stephen, shrugging. "Come on, we've more important things to do."

"We need to get wired in, let's scour this place for headphones," said Mary. "We need all ears inside that building. I assume you have control of it, Stephen?"

"Yes," said Stephen, sitting down. "We are inside their on-site operation."

* * *

Jill ran down the dark road, cringing at the pain in her legs. They felt like hot irons loosely attached to her body and moving them back and forth was taking all of her concentration. With her third eye she felt about in the darkness around her, listening for any sign of movement, watching for the black night to take on a denser blackness in the form of a human being.

She'd seen the people parachuting from the sky; she herself counted nearly a dozen. Jill knew the Pound's time here was almost up, and that in order to escape with their lives they would have to wrap up this operation, success or failure. Irina would find her shortly and then she would understand the new plan.

Her confusion of allegiance was now mended by blind hatred for the blond woman who'd laid her fist across her jaw. Then Peter. Stupid Peter landed on her legs. What a complete idiot.

Sarah Walker. The agent who Chuck loved.

In one fluid motion, a hand reached out and snagged Jill from her jog into a parked van. She almost let out a yelp but another hand covered her mouth.

"Quite," said a fierce voice. "Irina wants you back at base."

"We lost the agents," said Jill. "They escaped."

"We know," said the Pound agent. His voice was low and gruff. "They are inside headquarters. We need you in there."

"Were you able to recover any Intersect source code?" asked Jill. The van began to move and she sat against the wall.

The man shook his head. "We will need to do an extraction in another way," he said. Then he hesitated before asking his next question. "What do you know about Agent Bartowski's parents?"

Jill stared at him. "Chuck's parents? Nothing. I've never met them. His mother was a teacher who abandoned them when Chuck was 10, and his father was nearly as absent. When I knew Chuck...he hadn't seen or heard from his dad in years." She watched the agent's face carefully. "Why?"

"We believe both his parents are here," said the agent. "We believe his father had a base on-site, and that is the base you discovered agents Bartowski and Walker in."

"And Chuck's mom?"

"She was a high-level CIA director for South America, who has been stationed out of Rio de Janeiro for the past ten years. We believe she has taken over Agent Brook's post as Director of their Burbank operation."

"This is too much," said Jill. "How do we proceed?"

"We need to move quickly," said the man. The van came to a stop. "If we can get Agent Bartowski in the basement, we will have complete control and maximum bargaining capabilities. If we can capture Agent Walker and hold her as leverage for Bartowski's cooperation, we will be able to speed up that process."

A glimmer of satisfaction twinkled in Jill's eye, and she felt it radiate through her body. As she and the agent jumped out of the van and began moving toward the cellar entrance, she knew now that she was on the right side, for it was the only side that reacted to animal instincts and not the strict rules humans had set for themselves to function within. Chuck can't defend himself if it means anyone's death.

He was a foolish man, deceiving himself into believing peace could be brought through non-violent means. She had deceived herself as well, for a very long time. But she knew it all, now. She knew that no matter how she felt about Chuck, his allegiance would always be associated with rigor, rules, and authority that didn't have a face.

They crept into the cellar and the agent shut the door behind them. He pulled off his hat and Jill recognized him as Ullric. He pointed behind her. There was another door leading out of this equipment storage room. She walked through it and entered a larger room. This one had no windows. Irina sat in a chair across the room, next to the man who had assisted her during Jill's reinforcement period, in the confinements of the jail cell that had turned her into who she was now. Solitary. And then this man. Hansel Waters. What kind of a name was Hansel Waters?

Irina turned at the sound of the door closing. "Good, you're here," she said. "We have to move quickly, we don't have a lot of time." The confidence that had once been so ingrained in Irina behavior and decision-making had been replaced with anxiety and agitation. She was harried, worried, and almost unrecognizable.

On the monitors, Jill saw Chuck, Sarah, and Casey standing inside their second level of command, the one that they were using to pass incorrect data through the satellites in the process of accumulating as much access to the local CIA access point. As the airport had once been a training base for CIA operatives and had a small, but significant, access point left within the system console. The above ground activity was masking what their below ground activity was attempting to do. Below ground, once they had Chuck in their captivity, would need as much server access as possible in order to process the information from the database in Chuck's head. There was no way to tell how extensive it was, but understanding the basics of encoded images, Jill projected a relatable file size that made even Hansel's mouth drop.

"So what's the plan? How do we get him down here?" asked Jill.

"That's the beauty of it," said Irina. "He will come to us. He and his girlfriend. Casey will stay up to guard their progress down here, and once they are down here, they will not be able to get out."

"You do know that the CIA has operatives on the ground now, don't you?" said Jill. "They are probably already inside this building."

"I don't think we have to worry about that…" said Hansel, pointing to the screen. Just as Irina had predicted, the guards upstairs let Chuck and Sarah pass through them, pointing them in the direction of the basement, and Casey stayed up there to stand guard. Chuck and Sarah moved into the stairwell and out of sight of the cameras.

"It will be just a moment now…" said Hansel, very quietly.

* * *

Chuck led the way down the narrow corridor. He kept his gun at chest-level and waited until he could hear Sarah's soft, controlled breathing behind him before going through the next doorway. This doorway led into a long corridor and ended as a brick wall with the tiniest window at the very top, where the wall met the ceiling. The only light in the hallway was at the end, close to the window, and it was flickering.

Sarah pressed herself against Chuck's back and whispered in his ear. "You do realize the likelihood of them being down here ready to jump us is nearly one-hundred percent, right? This is foolish, the CIA is here now, we should just leave."

Chuck turned his head. "That doesn't sound like the Sarah Walker I know," he said, raising an eyebrow. "What about everything they've done to us in the last week? These are the people that initiated our mission to Rio…the ones who injected me with a virus."

Sarah nodded. "I want vengeance, don't get me wrong, but…something feels wrong about all this."

"Well, if we get into a snag, the CIA will be here shortly…" said Chuck. "Come on, let's end this." She leaned in and kissed his cheek. He gave her one last lingering look before turning and walking up to the next door.

It was locked. Sarah frog hopped him to the next door. It too was locked. Chuck tried one on the other side of the hallway. Locked. He turned to look at her, confused. He mimed breaking down the door. She nodded, turned to aim her foot and completely missed Chuck's frantic hand-waving, to get her to stop, and her foot landed squarely next to the lock, shattering it to bits and throwing the door wide open. She aimed her gun and walked through the doors, Chuck close at her heels.

There were two more doors, one on either end. One had to lead to the outside. Chuck pointed at the other door, Sarah agreed. She kept her gun trained on the door, walked slowly to it, and turned the knob. It clicked and the door swung open easily.

The room was well lit. Directly across the room were two screens with a series of surveillance cameras rotating their views. There was Casey, still standing with The Pound guards on the level above them. There were the CIA agents, taking down small stations of snipers on the roof. There were more CIA agents inside the building, combing the hallways for rogue agents.

Chuck walked directly to the computers and set his gun down. "This is it, Sarah…" he said, under his breath.

There was a gasp, and the sound of someone crumpling to the floor. Chuck turned to see Jill standing over Sarah, who was lazily spread out on the ground, as though she had just fallen asleep. Jill tossed the syringe in her hand across the room. It rolled across the floor. Next to her was a taller man, clothed in black and wearing gear that might have been taken right off a CIA agent. From the other end of the room, a portion of the room that Chuck could not have anticipated, Irina emerged from the shadows, shaking her head with a satisfied grin. Next to her was the nervous man Chuck remembered from Russia.

"Agent Bartowski," said Irina, smiling her uneven and yellowing teeth at him. "So…good to see you again."

"What did you do to Sarah?" asked Chuck, his eyes wide with total shock. He was staring at Jill, as though this were the hundredth time she'd betrayed him, and not just the…well, he could still count her betrayals on one hand. One or one hundred, he was still hanging in disbelief. How could he have been so careless? How had he not heard them?

"Mild toxin," said Jill, shrugging. "It is totally curable if the antidote is given within an hour. Beyond that, however, I'm not exactly sure what will happen. It takes different forms in different people. But I can tell you one thing, Chuck: it's not pretty."

"The CIA is here…" said Chuck. "You won't get anywhere by torturing me."

"We do not intend to torture you," said Irina, she drew out each work in her thick Russian accent. She sent a kiss his way, then brushed the hair out of her eyes. "It is only your brain we want."

Chuck tried to provoke the Intersect, to give him something to defend himself, to save himself, to save his life and the future in his life, but it was frozen. All he could see when the Intersect tried to complete the connection was Sarah's body on the ground, unconscious. He shook his head and cringed. The pain returned like a piercing cyst growing out of the crown of his head.

And then he was strapped to a chair, staring up at a bright light. He saw Jill like a haze through his eyes. She stood very still directly in front of him.

The next thing he saw was Sarah, tied to a chair in front of him, far away and against the wall. She was still unconscious. And then Jill was standing next to her.

He drifted out again, the blackness like a tingling arm, numb and nerveless. His head swayed in the hyperspeed travel he was taking through the distant stars within his own head, circling the galaxies in a lovely, uncaring, and anxiety-free tour. There was nothing but the intentional lack of thought; he was not thinking about anything, and he knew he wasn't thinking about anything. He knew there were things he should be thinking about, but nothing he could focus on long enough to develop into a corporeal thought, one that could manifest and become his mind and remind him of the things he knew. He knew less than nothing, now, because he didn't even know his own mind.

It could have been a year later, or several seconds, when he was able to open one eye and watch as Jill injected something into Sarah's neck. He tried to mumble a thought, but since he did not have thoughts, he could barely form the action, and it fizzled out like a cold flame.

"It's locked."

"What?"

"The code doesn't work. There's no feasible way to tap into this massive computer, Irina, I have been telling you," said the first voice.

"That is not an acceptable answer," said the second voice. The thick Russian voice. Irina.

"We are running out of time, Irina," said a third voice. "The CIA is moments away from getting into the cellar."

A roar of outrage resounded around the room. "This is unacceptable!" shouted Irina. She took Chuck's face in her hand, then slapped him hard across the face. "A-V-B-3-6-4-3-4-0-S-1-4-4-1-5-4-7-E. What is it? What is it?" She slapped him again.

The slap jolted a different source of energy through him. His brain felt light and fuzzy, but he was formulating full thoughts. He thought about how much the slap hurt, and he thought about the split on the inside of his cheek that had started oozing blood into his mouth.

A-V-B-3-6-4-3-4-0-S-1-4-4-1-5-4-7-E. The Intersect whirled and he was no longer blocked by the image that had made him so unfocused before. He thought of nothing but what was more real at that moment. A-V-B-3-6-4-3-4-0-S-1-4-4-1-5-4-7-E. That was real.

Another slap. A cry from beyond the woman standing in front of him caused the Intersect to slow.

"Stop it!" shouted the woman who had cried out. "He can't flash! The virus ruined the Intersect."

"Shut up," said one of the voices. Younger, no accent. Jill.

Another slap. "A-V-B-3-6-4-3-4-0-S-1-4-4-1-5-4-7-E. Chuck, what does that mean to you?"

Blood began to trickle down Chuck's lip. He felt it pooling in the inside of his mouth and it was starting to make him gag. He tried to say something, but he felt the warm blood nearly go down his throat.

"Move, he's going to hurl," said Jill. The figured moved out of the way. Chuck spewed blood all over the ground, then fell backward in his chair, heaving.

"What were you going to say, Chuck?" asked Irina, petting him in the place she'd hit him repeatedly. He flinched.

"Australia…Victoria…Bendigo," he said. "A-V-B."

There was silence. "And the numbers?"

Chuck was able to see Sarah now, through his delirium. She tried to hold his gaze, but he could not concentrate on any one thing. His head swung around on his neck and he felt nauseous again.

"Irina, we don't have time!" shouted a man's voice. "We need to go now!"

"The numbers! What are the numbers?" Irina shouted again. She slapped Chuck again and again, on both cheeks and his mouth filled with blood. Sarah screamed at them from behind and he heard commotion resounding from somewhere. The slapping stopped and just before Chuck lost consciousness, she saw the figures racing from the room and Sarah's figure writing in her seat.

"Chuck? Chuck!"

And then the blackness consumed him once again.

* * *

Lots of exposition, I know...gotta get the story movin' along. Hope I kept you this long. =)


	23. Boxes, Walls, and Squares

**Chuck vs. the Virus**

* * *

I included a bit of clinical stuff in this one, and I am in no way vouching that this is all even possible…since it is a theoretical Intersect we're talking about here… Anyway, it's all in order to tell the big story. And you should know by now, I'm all about the story. All about the journey.

* * *

**Chapter 22: Boxes, Walls, and Squares**

_The air was finally still when Chuck heard the front door to the house open. Sitting on the roof and looking out over the courtyard was a thrill. The distance between his seat and the ground would cause certain death if he fell, but he was comfortable and at ease. The height did not make him tremble or become filled with butterflies. But he couldn't stare at the ground for too long without being overwhelmed with the possibility of falling._

_"Chuck?" Sarah's voice sounded out around the courtyard. He watched her come into view, staring around. She put a hand on her hip in confusion and pulled out her phone. "Where did he go?" she mumbled._

_Beside him, his phone began to beep. Sarah looked around because she could hear it, but didn't seem to realize the sound was coming from above her. Chuck watched her silently for another moment before clearing his throat._

_Then she looked up._

_"Chuck?" she said. Her question sounded more like, "What the hell are you doing on the roof?" even though she only said his name._

_He smiled, loving that he could read in-between the lines with her. "Clearing my head," he said. "This is the only place I've found nearby that doesn't trigger the Intersect."_

_She looked around. "How did you get up there?" she asked._

_"I climbed," he said. He pointed to the staircase to her left. "Jumped from the railing to the roof, hoisted myself up, ran across, hoisted myself up here." He patted the seat next to him. "There's plenty of room if you'd like to join me."_

_She looked warily at the path he'd described, but shrugged and began making her way up to him. She was cautious, but performed each feat with ease. She casually swung her legs up onto the first roof, wherein he'd muscled his upper body first before setting his knees down. Quickly, and light-footed, she ran along the roof and jumped up on the final, 4-foot raised roof where Chuck sat._

_"Impressive," said Chuck._

_"I could say the same for you," she said, sitting down next to him, breathy. "How'd you even think to come up here?"_

_Chuck looked up at the night's sky. "I saw the stars one night and just wanted to get closer." He looked down at her. "How's that for a cheesy answer?"_

_Sarah smiled and shook her head. "Believe it or not, I understand." She reached over and put a hand on his thigh. "Are you doing OK, Chuck? You didn't seem well today."_

_Chuck shrugged. "It's a lot to take in," he said. He paused before moving on. "One day I want the Intersect out of my head, more than anything in the world, and the next I'm watching my former best friend die to protect the one single thing keeping me from living a real life."_

_Sarah watched him, but didn't say anything. She leaned on her arm, propped up on her leg, and studied his face as he continued to speak._

_"It made me feel selfish, I think, that I wanted to be rid of this life so much when all Bryce wanted was to save the world," said Chuck. "And even before I realized that Bryce had tricked me into downloading the second one, I knew that my perspective needed to change. I finally saw the point...in it all. I saw the guy who was willing to give it all up, and I saw that I was a part of this secret spy world, whether I wanted to be or not."_

_Sarah gave him a firm smile and reached up to brush his hair back. "You have a right to not want this," she said. "You are a valuable asset to this team, Chuck, but CIA teams existed and were successful long before either you or I arrived."_

_"Very true, but I don't know how much the government would like a high-level CIA asset running around on his own, head full of government secrets, just because he didn't feel like helping out," said Chuck. "And it's not a curse, you know? It's not like I'm completely helpless now. This new Intersect allows me to defend and fend for myself in ways I could only rely on you and Casey for before. Now I can be a contributing member!"_

_Sarah frowned._

_"What, you don't like that?"_

_"No, it's not that," she said._

_"What is it?"_

_"Well, that's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about," she said. "Did you hear anything about Beckman arranging a special training program for you at Harlington in Virginia?"_

_"No," said Chuck. "She hasn't spoken to me since we disassembled Fulcrum's operation base."_

_"I just got a call from one of my old trainers at Harlington," said Sarah. "He was calling to say he was expecting to see my A game when I came back for more training."_

_"You keep in touch with your old trainers?" asked Chuck, raising an eyebrow._

_Sarah smiled. "No, he just called out of the blue. He taught me a lot, though, he was very instrumental to my development."_

_"What's his name?"_

_"I think he's actually a director of some sort now, he's moved on from training. He's Agent Brook, really decent guy," said Sarah. "Anyway, he was wondering about you and the type of agent you've been."_

_"Calling to get the dirt," said Chuck, smiling grimly. "Well, it was bound to happen."_

_"Even though not everyone knows you are the Intersect, everyone will know you are special in some way...I mean, from the sound of it they are designing a training program especially for you. That does not happen very often, if at all, Chuck."_

_Chuck nodded and was silent for several moments. Finally he stood up. "Well, I suppose you know what that means..." he extended his hand to Sarah. She took it and stood up, quizzical._

_"I don't think I follow," said Sarah._

_Chuck gave her a wide smile. "It means, if we're going to get any one-on-one time in, we've got to go like...now. What say you about Denmark?"_

_Sarah rolled her eyes. "Come on, Chuck..."_

_"I am so, absolutely serious, Sarah," said Chuck. "We're going to Europe, and we're leaving tomorrow morning."_

_"We can't just get up and go to Europe," said Sarah. "What about your sister? Devon? Morgan?" Her voice trailed off._

_"If you are using_

_themas an excuse not to go," said Chuck, "then you really must not want to go."_

_Sarah took a deep breath. "No, I want to go." She took another breath. "Ok. Wow, are we really doing this, Chuck?"_

_"Yes, we are," he said. Then very lightly, pressed his lips against hers._

* * *

Mary Bartowski and her daughter stood outside Chuck's hospital room, peering in through the glass. They stood together, but apart, like acquaintances rather than blood relatives. Mary's eyes flitted between gazing at her son through the clear pane and her daughter, who was intently focused on watching her brother.

"Has she been there this whole time?" asked Ellie, shaking her head.

Mary sighed. "I saw her use the bathroom once," she said. "Otherwise she's been at his side the whole time."

"At his side..." said Ellie, shaking her head. "How about glued to the hip? Did anyone offer getting her a bed?"

"I think Devon did, but she said she didn't need it," said Mary.

Ellie turned to her mother. "Did she talk at all about what happened in Chester? Why we found Chuck unconscious? Why she had enormous amounts of muscle relaxants in her system?"

"I'm sure it was all part of The Pound's tactics to extract information from Chuck's head...to use Sarah as their access point," said Mary. "Beyond that we have not officially gathered her statement yet."

"Why not?"

Mary raised an eyebrow and looked at her daughter. "I'm surprised, El...I would have thought you'd want us to take a slower route through this."

"Well, I think she needs to rest, and probably needs some counteractive medication, but I also know that those people escaped from that small town. She might be our only means to find them."

Mary smiled. "Don't worry about that." Mary looked back at Chuck. Sarah laid next to him, after carefully maneuvering into his arms. Every once in a while she would pick up his hand and run her fingers around his. Her lips would move and then she would grow tired again, put his hand down, and fall asleep.

"So, I will be inheriting a daughter-in-law before long?" she asked.

Ellie smiled. "Yes, it certainly looks that way."

"When did it happen? As far as I can recall, they were not engaged while they were in Rio," said Mary.

"Just on the way to Montana, actually," said Ellie. "I wasn't aware they were still together until just a couple days ago, when we made that trip to Chester. Then, before you know it, he's already proposed."

Mary shook her head. "He's come so far from the ten year old boy I remember," she said, in a very low whisper. "You both have."

Ellie smiled. "We're not all that different. Sure, we're older, much more independent, more responsible, but underneath it all, Mom, we're still little kids. We have fears, hesitations, and worries."

Mary nodded. "Sometimes it feels like I never left, just standing here and watching Chuck, but then I see the woman lying next to him and it just completely exposes that enormous amount of time I wasn't here."

Ellie reached out and touched her mother's arm. "I think Chuck understands, more than any of us, why you had to leave," she said.

Mary clasped her hand over Ellie's. "And you? Are you beginning to understand?"

Ellie chuckled. "You know, out of all the scenarios that I played over in my head, for reasons you left us, this was definitely not one of them. So even though I don't really understand where your head was when the CIA put you into protective custody, I know that you did it to protect us."

"I would only do it all over again the same way because I know that by removing myself from the situation I was able to spare you and Chuck from the deaths of your parents, rather than just their absences," said Mary, a tear running down. "But if there was another way, perhaps one that included all of us running away together, I would have taken it in a heart beat."

"Oh, mom," said Ellie. She reached out and pulled her mother in, wrapping her arms around the woman and holding her head with her hand. "It is all worth it now that you're here and all of that stuff is in the past."

Mary wrapped her arms tightly around her daughter. "Things will be much different now."

Someone cleared their throat nearby and the two women looked around without releasing one another. Devon and Stephen stood next to them.

"What is it?" asked Ellie.

"We need to run another CT on Chuck's head," said Stephen.

Ellie looked in at Sarah and Chuck. "But she just fell asleep again," said Ellie. "Can't it wait?"

Stephen shook his head. "We took the last set of images almost a day and a half ago. With no evidence that Chuck will wake up on his own, we need to take images closer together to monitor cranial changes."

Mary let Ellie go and Devon laid a hand on his wife's shoulder. "I'll stay here and sit with Sarah," said Devon. Behind him, Dr. Titus came around the corner pushing a bed. "Even if she insists she doesn't need her own bed, we'll need to have Chuck away from this room for a couple hours."

"I can stay, Devon," said Mary. "You go with Ellie and Stephen."

Devon looked between Ellie and Mary. "Are you sure? I totally don't mind hanging around."

Ellie smiled and looked at her mother. "Mom can handle her," she said. "She's probably the only one who can."

Stephen laughed. "All right, let's move her to the new bed."

Sarah barely stirred as the three men moved her from Chuck's side to her new bed. She looked peaceful, but her face was tight and severely composed. By the time the doctors wheeled Chuck out of the room, Sarah had shifted enough to realize, in her sleep, that she was no longer at Chuck's side. She sat up quite suddenly and looked around.

"Mrs. Bartowski?" she asked groggily, swinging her feet off the bed. "What happened? Where's Chuck?"

"He's fine," she said. She was sitting in the chair by the corner, doused in darkness, but holding a newspaper in her hands. "They took him to get another CT." Sarah sat back onto the bed and yawned. "You should sleep. I will wake you if they find anything."

"Or if he wakes up?"

"Or if he wakes up," Mary reassured her. She stood up and walked to Sarah's bedside, pulling a chair from nearby to sit closer to her. "Dear, are you sure there's no family I can call for you? Friends?"

Sarah smiled, sadly, and shook her head. "It's just Chuck," she said in a whisper. She laid her head on the pillow. "If he leaves me now, then I officially have no one."

Mary shook her head. "You are part of this family now," she said. "Now you always have people."

* * *

"This may be a stupid question," Ellie whispered to her father as they sat behind the CT tech running the scan on Chuck. She clutched a binder, nearly overflowing with papers, close to her chest.

"There are no stupid questions, sweetheart," said Stephen.

"Will Chuck be a robot...when he wakes up?" she asked. "I mean, I am starting to understand your schematics for the Intersect, but Chuck does not seem to be reacting the way that the 2.0 was expected to implement."

Devon swiveled in his chair at the tone of Ellie's question; Dr. Titus barely glanced up at Devon's movement as he continued to study the incoming images. Devon watched his wife as Stephen answered. "No, he will not be a robot. We just need to properly fix the Intersect. We've been taking these scans because we don't know why the Intersect is keeping him comatose."

"You mean because of the hypnotism you performed in Chester?" asked Ellie.

"Partly, yes, but the Intersect isn't static, it's organic. I designed it so that it _could_ interface with the human brain and not conform to the logarithms that most computers are held to, but that it would instead learn from its host and adapt."

"What kind of a team did you have when you developed this?" asked Devon.

"No team," said Stephen. "It was just me. Now, the 2.0? That's a slightly different story. They did not strictly adhere to my protocols, as is evidenced by Chuck's incredible abilities."

"Should we be scanning elsewhere on his body for additional damage?" asked Devon. "His wounds healing themselves in Rio was something I still cannot wrap my head around."

Next to him, Dr. Titus shook his head. "His vitals and his other labs would have indicated other internal stressors. If there is any internal damage, it is not extensive enough to be worth looking into at this stage."

"And what if you're wrong? The heart can only make up so much time if his body is under too much strain trying to keep the blood flowing," said Devon, looking over his shoulder at his colleague.

Dr. Titus looked up, sympathetic. "Look, Devon, I know you are worried about him, but Chuck's body is more resilient than I have ever witnessed. I have a feeling that if there was something wrong, it would tell us."

"You've worked with trauma patients for a long time, Tony, you should know the power adrenaline has over the human body," Devon argued.

"Devon, Chuck has been in a coma for over 3 days. The adrenaline would have long left his system by now," said Dr. Titus, letting his gaze drift back to the monitors. Devon continued to stare at him, but didn't have a response.

"The first sign of anything wrong, we will look for it, Devon," said Ellie, reaching over to set a hand on his. "You know that." Devon nodded.

"So where do we go from here?" asked Ellie.

"Once we have these scans, we can bring him into the room we've had set up, and I can start running responsive tests," said Stephen. "With the equipment the CIA was able to obtain for us, we will be able to attempt stimulating Chuck's brain, to see which parts are inactive, which parts are the most active, and from there we should figure out where the real source of the problem is in my designs."

Ellie sighed. "That sounds like a lot of work."

Stephen clamped a hand on her back. "For a neurologist, I would hope that is a positive thing. Haven't you ever wanted to see the way someone else's brain works?" He laughed, as did Devon and Dr. Titus.

Ellie frowned. "Yes, but not Chuck's. I've never had to question Chuck or his motivations. He's been misguided at times, confusing at times…" she paused, "but his actions have never solely derived from his brain. They always come from the heart."

Stephen rubbed her back. "Trust me, El, we will get to the bottom of this."

* * *

Boxes lined the walls, as though they were the walls themselves. They were like the repeating scenery of an old cartoon, and as Chuck raced down aisle after aisle, the scenery continued to repeat itself.

"Hello?" he shouted. His voice did not carry. It was muted by the large amount of stuff in a very tightly enclosed space. He gathered up all the energy he could and tried again, louder this time. Still his voice seemed to be muffled.

Furious, he tore one of the boxes down from as high up as he could reach. The box spilled across the floor, exposing the numerous amounts of papers from within. He picked a couple up and looked them over. Diagrams, statistics, facts, and more facts, and more facts… all about the Walther P22. He bent down and quickly shuffled through the papers across the floor. All the papers from the box were about the Walther P22. Every person known to have owned one, every incident recorded by the CIA, police, or military involving the P22. Every single file was about the sidearm.

He stood up and kicked the box, allowing the contents to splay even farther across the passageway. He backed away, slowly, trying to memorize his surroundings. _This should be a good marker_, he thought, _so that when I circle back around I'll know how large this room is_.

He turned and began to run. He ran and ran, twisting with the odd formations of the boxes, cutting between the slimming passage and ducking under ominously hovering boxes hanging overhead. He ran and ran.

Then he stopped. He looked around. He lifted a hand to his neck and felt for his pulse, but he couldn't find a pulse.

_I'm dreaming_, he thought. He looked down his body. _At least I'm not naked_.

He turned around and looked back the way he came. The box he had knocked over was nowhere in sight and he wondered, idly, how long he'd been running. If it had been a moment, or if it had been much longer than that. He wanted to know, and didn't want to know, all at the same time. He looked in the direction he'd been running. Boxes crowded his view of seeing anything beyond, if there was, in fact, anything beyond the boxes.

_But if this is a dream_, he thought, looking around at the boxes again, much more critically, _then these must have a huge significance to why I'm here._ He knocked over another box and picked up a handful of paper from the contents that spilled out. British war crimes.

He knocked over another box. A list of every serial killer captured by the government since the origination of the United States. A list so long it took up an entire box.

He knocked over another, and another. A complete profile on Hitler. A complete profile on the relationship between Iraq and Saudi Arabia.

He stood up after crouching beside the last box. _This is the Intersect, isn't it?_ He turned to face the direction he'd been heading and, just beyond, where he could have sworn nothing but boxes had been before, was a white door.

Slowly he made his way toward it, as though rushing might scare it away. He held it in his gaze, reassuring himself that it was not a mirage. But he wasn't sure of anything until he touched the handle and turned it.

* * *

Chuck lay bare from the waist up on a single, slightly inclined, surgery bed. His feet and arms were restrained, his head was completely shaven, and an IV was still providing him with fluids. His body looked drained and completely devoid of a fight.

Sarah and Mary sat side-by-side behind the large glass wall separating them from Chuck. The room reminded Sarah of a music studio, where the sound technician sat behind the control board and the musician on the other side of the glass wall with the microphone and guitar.

Dr. Titus and Devon sat behind the control board, which was a series of monitors that would allow them to observe the tests Stephen and Ellie would be running on Chuck. As the sensors were applied to Chuck's head and chest, different images appeared on the screens. A heart monitor, a wave pattern which Sarah assumed were brain waves. And one monitor was focused close in on Chuck's face.

His head looked so naked without hair, and it tore Sarah to the core to see him like that. But as bare as his head was, at least two dozen sensors crowded his scalp. One layer, resting on the crown of his head, had green sensors, another layer more at the level of his ears, was red. Four silver sensors were attached to his chest and all fed into a large switch-board-looking device sitting in front of Stephen and Ellie.

Ellie held a binder. Next to Stephen were four large computer monitors displaying the images from Chuck's scans. Sarah didn't know what to be watching, but her eyes kept flitting back to Chuck's face, unable to rid herself of the short video from when he passed out in Chester.

"They did something to him," Sarah said under her breath.

"What?" asked Mary, leaning in.

"They did something to him," said Sarah, a little louder.

"They are going to try," said Mary, sighing resignedly.

"No, I mean…back in Chester," said Sarah. "When we were trapped in that room. They _did_ something to him."

"What do you mean?" asked Mary. In front of them, Sarah's comment had caught the attention of the doctors. Devon and Dr. Titus turned to look at her.

"Before they tied us up, Chuck froze. He just…tensed up and didn't react at all." Sarah looked into Devon's eyes. He didn't respond, he just allowed her the time to get out what she was trying to say. "Since Chuck downloaded the new Intersect, he doesn't hesitate. The Intersect gave him instincts I have never seen before, and even after the virus…he hardly ever missed a beat. He's taken out more people in a more confined space than that." She gulped. "They knocked me out with something…and by the time I came to, they could have done anything to him."

Mary rested a hand on Sarah's knee. She didn't have anything to say, nothing, at least, that couldn't be implied or said with a gesture, and so she moved her hand to Sarah's shoulder and pulled her in. Sarah allowed the affection and leaned her head against her soon to be mother-in-law.

Devon watched Sarah closely, never breaking the gaze. Dr. Titus let his eyes drift thoughtfully between the three, and then turned back to the monitors.

"We're going to figure this out, Sarah," said Devon. "Whatever happened there wasn't your fault. Those people are terrorists. This is _their_ fault."

Sarah nodded. There was very little solace in that. Yet, she did feel the anger lift off herself.

From within the room, they heard Ellie and Stephen begin to converse.

"We will start this exam with physical stimuli," said Stephen. "Ellie, you watch the brain monitor. Devon, keep an eye on the electrocardiograph and watch for any irregularities in the P wave or QRS duration. Dr. Titus, watch the electroencephalograph for changes in the montage."

Devon covered the mic with his hand and turned to the women. "The P wave will tell us if there are problems with the heart, and the QRS duration…" he pointed to the quick spike and dip in the heart monitor, "this is what it looks like as he's resting. So if and when it changes, we will be able to better understand how his body is reacting to the stimuli based on how exactly it changes."

Likewise, Dr. Titus turned to look at the women. "And as far as the electroencephalograph goes," he said with a smile, "you probably know it as an EEG. The montage is just the channel I will be reading the waves at, which is called a Biploar montage, and it will be able to help us see which hemisphere of the brain is responding to the stimuli."

Sarah blinked and sat up. She and Mary exchanged a look. "Did you understand any of that?" Mary whispered.

Sarah shook her head.

"You doctors just do your thing," said Mary, "let us know the basics."

Devon smiled. "You got it."

"We're good on our end, Mr. Bartowski," said Devon. "Ready when you are."

"We will mostly be monitoring gamma and alpha waves," said Dr. Titus to Devon. "It is the gamma waves that will be able to tell whether there has been any decline in neural activity, particularly if Chuck is not responsive to light." Devon nodded and peered closely at the monitor closer to his colleague.

Mary leaned over to Sarah and whispered. "Are Devon and my son close? Do they have a close relationship?"

Sarah slightly shrugged. "They're close for non-blood relatives, but their relationship really started to develop after Chuck had to reveal the truth about himself a couple months ago. Devon really has gone above and beyond to protect and care for Chuck and I think that has really solidified their relationship."

Mary watched her son-in-law as he carefully watched Chuck's heart feed. "It is as much and more than I could have hoped for."

Sarah smiled. "Likewise."

Dr. Titus leaned into his microphone. "Gamma waves are showing a positive response to the physical stimuli."

Devon, similarly, pressed the button on his mic. "P waves are holding steady." He turned to the women. "Chuck's body is properly responding to the electric impulses they are sending to various parts of his body, which means both hemispheres of his brain are responsive and accurately sending the proper message to respond to the pain."

Sarah nodded. That was a good first step.

* * *

Chuck stepped through the doorway and behind him, the door disappeared completely. His head felt very heavy and he dropped to one knee, but the sensation passed quickly and it felt only, now, as though a large gust of wind had knocked him over. He stood up and looked around. This room wasn't as white as the previous one, and there were no boxes. He felt the knot in his stomach loosen. Those boxes had not settled well with him.

This whole situation was beginning to feel like a video game. An old video game where each level was a contained and specific puzzle, rather than a story or a journey, in which the character had to understand the purpose of the level and conquer it, otherwise risk being lost in the world forever. But whether he could rely on that instinct was still unclear at this point.

The frame of this room was white. The rest was clothed in black, which had an eminence that reminded Chuck of satin. He wanted to touch the wall to confirm his suspicion, but did not. He could not control everything about himself. He peered closely at the odd way the white borders illuminated the room and cast gray shadows on the floor, like a chessboard.

_If I were in the real world right now I could flash_, Chuck thought, _the Intersect would be able to tell me something about what this room is_.

He thought for a moment, though. _This room doesn't look familiar in any way_, he said, scratching his head. _It looks like a chessboard, but there are no pieces. There are no indications of true squares, just the shadows that the room makes_. He took a step forward, now convinced that the only way to understand the way forward was to test the limitations of the room. What he expected, though, was nothing close to what happened.

He stepped on a gray square and the floor turned white, and then disappeared beneath him and he started to fall through the hole. He reached for the floor in front of him and he caught himself before he disappeared into the complete whiteness below. The black square he had caught turned gray and he carefully pulled himself back up onto the floor.

Now he had six options, a black square or a gray square in each direction, assuming he wanted to keep moving away from his starting position. He turned to look at where he had been standing just moments ago. It was a black square now, separated by the white hole he'd almost just fallen through. He looked ahead and tried to examine the walls, looking for another door.

As a test, he put all his weight on his right foot and leaned backward and tapped his left toe on a gray square. The square turned white and disappeared, just like the one that had almost sucked him in. He stood up straight and looked down at the square that was supporting him. It, too, was gray. He stepped onto a black square and it turned gray. Thinking he knew what was going on, he tested the square he'd just been on and tapped it with his foot. It turned white and disappeared.

_If I'm quick I can use a gray square_, Chuck thought, _but my best bet is going to be the black ones_.

He crouched down and tried to get his bearing on the room. He was heading toward what he assumed was the middle of the room, but having never circled the room he couldn't determine whether the whole thing was an optical illusion or whether the breadth of it was really as small as his eyes perceived it to be. If he tried to go to one end, he'd use up all the black squares going in that direction by doing so, or more if he made a mistake. Unless he paid close attention and provided himself a way back, he might make large gaps that would be impossible to cross if he discovered the exit was, in fact, a different direction.

This whole scenario would be much easier if he knew where the door was.

"Where is the door?" he shouted. Unlike the previous room, where the spacious interior muffled his yells, this room amplified it and his voice echoed around him until even he couldn't have guessed that it had originated from himself. The walls sounded tinny and not made of dense cloth, as he had originally speculated.

"Yeah, I guessed as much," he mumbled under his breath. He didn't know if he was expecting an answer, or the Great and Wonderful Oz, or even for the door to reveal itself. _Last time_, he thought to himself, and when he thought back to the Box Room he thought about how very long ago it felt since he'd been there. _Last time I figured out what the contents of the room were and then the door was revealed to me_.

What was this room?

Chuck tried to think about it in a different way. At first glance the room was obviously a giant chessboard, minus the pieces. But a chessboard with out chess pieces is just a single plane with different colored, yet patterned, boxes. And really, the only reason it looked like a chessboard was because of the way the colors of the walls were arranged. The walls, therefore, must reflect the depth of the floor. How the floor could tell how many times it had been touched was beyond Chuck's realm of thinking, but since the room itself existed, he doubted that question was entirely necessary. It was the reality right now that was truth, not any logic he'd gleaned from…whatever existed before this.

So the real battle was with the floor, was it? Chuck bent down to peer through the whiteness below, through the squares on either side of him that had opened up. There certainly was something below him, but it wasn't quite clear to him what it was. He bent lower, lying with his stomach on the gray pane and looked under the floor, twisting his head around to try and see the full extent of what lay below.

Next he tried stretching his arm down into the hole as far as he could, even sliding half of his chest down. He swung his arm trying to find anything, or to see anything, maybe see his own shadow. But the white of the whiteness was so white it didn't even seem to have a source. It was infuriating, frustrating, and yet Chuck found it easier to deal with than the boxes.

He got to his feet again. He jumped diagonally to a black square, and again and again, until he felt like he was in the middle of the room. He tapped a gray square and performed the same inspection of the whiteness below as before, this time using his eyes to detect any changes in the surface.

Nothing.

He got to his feet and touched his head in confusion. Then something felt off. He touched his head again and slid his hands over the smooth surface of his scalp. He had no hair. Chuck brought his hands down to stare at them, as though they might have the hair in them. But they were empty.

"I have no hair," he said aloud. "This is officially the strangest dream ever."

He jumped diagonally to the far corner of the room, until he could almost touch the wall. He was directly kitty-corner from where he'd entered the room and looking back he could see the precise trail of solid gray from whence he'd come.

Still facing the corner walls, Chuck touched the gray block to his right and bent down to look below the floor again. This time he saw something.

Stairs.

To the far, far right, starting at the floor against the wall, was a staircase, completely white, that led down into the whiteness. Chuck got to his feet and took bounding leaps to the wall, jumping over the gray blocks onto the black ones, until he could touch the wall. He leaned against the wall, stepped onto the corner gray tile, and the tile gave way to the white step.

The moment his feet touched the step, all the tiles of the floor vanished and far below him a faint green light lit up the floor. He began to descend the stairs, toward the light.

* * *

"He's responding to colors, to shapes, to differentiating volumes of light. Clearly his brain can use his optic nerves regardless of his consciousness," said Ellie. "That is absolutely extraordinary."

"So what we are seeing, then, is submission to the Intersect?" asked Stephen.

"Yes, that would be my guess as well," said Ellie. "You know, dad…there is one thing we haven't tried yet."

"What's that?" asked Stephen, running a hand through his hair. The back of his neck dripped lightly with sweat. He felt tense and drained, but so enveloped by his project that he hardly noticed until he stretched his limbs.

"This whole time we've been testing Chuck's brain in it's response…but like you said before, you designed the Intersect to be organic. If _it_ is what is on the surface right now, and only suppressing Chuck's consciousness, why can't we ask _it_ questions?"

"We've tried addressing him," said Stephen. "The natural abilities to move and speak are directly linked to the motor functions being suppressed, El."

"Yes, yes, I know. I'm not talking about addressing the _body_, per say. I'm talking about hooking him up to a computer and you know…doing what you do when you're writing a program, or something. Like…oh, hell. I don't even know the words for what I'm trying to say."

Stephen smiled. "That's all right…" he shook his head, "I think I know exactly what you are saying, believe it or not." He stood up and walked around the room, tapping his chin and looking at the brain scans without really studying them."

He turned to the window where Devon and Dr. Titus sat. "Is Sarah still out there?"

She stood up and approached the window. Devon handed her his mic and she responded. "Right here, Mr. Bartowski. What do you need?"

Twenty minutes later Sarah met Casey at the front doors of the hospital. He was carrying a briefcase.

"How is he?" asked Casey.

"Still in a coma," said Sarah. "Thank you for getting here so quickly."

"It certainly helps move things along when the guy you're trying to save is the son of the man who invented the Intersect," said Casey. "But I'll tell ya, it is not easy moving around out there. Everyone is in a panic."

"In a panic?" asked Sarah.

"Yeah, because of the broadcast Irina made from Chester," said Casey. "No one is sure whether they should be escaping to Canada, or if they are safest where they are. Mr. President seems to give a speech every two hours, updating us on the mobilization of our armed forces against terrorist threats within the nation."

"But Irina never said where the broadcast was coming from," said Sarah, leading Casey through the hospital. "How does everyone know it came from within?"

"Non-government organizations, who the CIA and NSA have been unable to keep quiet, have been able to track her transmission. Chester is the most popular town in the world right now," said Casey. "There is media all over that place."

"We got out of there just in time, apparently."

"Not a moment too late," said Casey. He grunted. "Not to mention everyone thinks I'm a POW. So every once in a while I'll have someone gawking at me, trying to place me."

Sarah smirked. "They should know better."

"Yeah," said Casey. He looked around. "Where are we going?"

Sarah pointed. "Just up here."


	24. Out of the Labyrinth

**Chuck vs the Virus**

* * *

2 Disclaimers:

1) I don't recall ever hearing Devon's brothers' names, so I took the liberty of giving one of them a name. If we do know their names, feel free to tell me.

2) I'm don't know a lot about neuroscience... but I like to read, so I'm just combining things I've picked up to make it sound scientifical :). Please do not take the science literally.

* * *

**Chapter 23: Out of the Labyrinth**

Sarah and Casey watched Mr. Bartowski open the silver briefcase. Inside was a glass cylinder, padded with foam. The cylinder was filled with slightly opaque, orange goo. Sarah didn't think it was a liquid because of how it moved. It didn't slosh or move around like water in a glass, it moved like jelly, but thick jelly.

"What is it?" asked Casey, peering in.

Without hesitation, Mr. Bartowski lifted the cylinder out of the case. "This is the compound I used to develop the Intersect. Because the Intersect requires an extremely fast processor to run, as you can imagine, I needed to develop something that could assist me in the testing phase. The human brain can operate on a completely different scale than a computer because of its unique methods of thought and analysis. Most significantly, it operates without external prompts." He inspected the contents of the cylinder. "This is a highly binding compound, developed from the basic chemical composition of brain matter, other elements natural to the human body, such as potassium and calcium, and of course, the key element Xenon."

"Xenon?" Ellie walked over to the little group from where she stood, preparing Chuck's sensors.

"Yes," said Mr. Bartowski. "Believe it or not, Xenon has been found to be a neuroprotectant, which no doubt aids in my overall project. When synthesized it also helps reduce the molecular weight of the whole compound so that when charges are sent through to the computer, they operate at a level so similar to that of the human brain it's almost indiscernible."

"Never in my wildest…" Ellie's voice trailed off as she watched her father work the cylinder in between the sensors running from Chuck's head to what looked like a switchboard, which was connected to the computer they'd brought up from one of the hospital tech's offices.

"What are you trying to do here?" asked Sarah.

"Since we don't know precisely what Irina did to Chuck, and we don't know why Chuck's consciousness is unresponsive, we are going to do as Ellie suggested: have a conversation with the Intersect. But you can't do it like you were talking to a person, and we all know you can't literally ask a computer verbal questions. Well, most computers anyway. So this baby, which I call Brain-X, creates a passageway from the computer to the Intersect. Of course I've never attempted to access the Intersect when it was already inside a human host, but I think this will actually be easier because it is organically implemented, which means that is one less process I have to mimic along the way."

"I am confused," said Sarah.

Stephen smiled. "All you really need to know is that Brain-X will allow me to ask the Intersect questions without doing harm to Chuck's brain. Every other way I can think of involves strenuous measures of hypnotherapy in order to just wake Chuck up. And then to remove the Intersect before it does any further damage…it's just too time consuming. We can do two things at once now, I can figure out the source of the problem and have the means to fix it, all in one shot."

Casey and Sarah exchanged a look. "All right," they said. "What can we do?"

"Sarah, I need you to stand at Chuck's head and check his pulse every two minutes," said Stephen. "In order for this to work we can only concentrate on his cerebral functions. If his pulse gets over 120, tell me immediately. Actually, warn me if it even breaks 100."

Ellie handed Sarah her watched and Sarah walked to Chuck's bare head. She gulped as she lightly touched his scalp, trying not to disturb the sensors.

"Colonel Casey," said Stephen, taking a deep breath. "In all of this, we have neglected to run blood work on Chuck. If you can extract a quarter pint of blood from Chuck, Dr. Titus can bring you to the hospital's lab. Since Chuck is an unofficial patient, you'll need to stay with the technicians until they've completed their work. If they put up a fuss, flash your badge."

"Yes, sir," said Casey. He looked around for the tools to get started. "I'm assuming you want the normal tox screen?"

"That's right," said Stephen. "Have them check for nuclear compounds as well. You never know."

In unison, Sarah and Ellie squawked: "Nuclear?"

"Don't worry," said Stephen. "If they injected him with any nuclear based pharmaceutical, it would be something like they use for PET scans. Foreign, yes, but not lethal."

"It's clear they don't want to _harm_ Chuck. Not before they've extracted what they need," said Ellie, thinking that through. "It's almost as though they disabled Chuck, and his ability to use the Intersect, to buy some time."

"Who's to say they didn't already take what they need?" asked Sarah.

Mr. Bartowski frowned. "It's hard to say for sure, Sarah. But I think Ellie is right. Not to be crass, but in Irina's line of work, when you get what you need, you don't leave anyone alive that threatens your operation." His face fell solemn. "The Intersect contains the information we need to track down The Pound. I am quite certain."

Ellie cleared her throat. "You ready, dad?"

"Yes, sweetheart," said Stephen. He typed something in on the keyboard and one of the screens changed. "You will be able to watch my conversation with the Intersect on that monitor." Stephen was typing foreign commands, in Sarah's perception, anyway. He mumbled to himself as he steadily typed.

"Here goes…" he said, watching the monitor. The cursor was blinking next to lines that read

[rootsjb /]# w  
USER TTY FROM LOGIN IDLE JCPU PCPU WHAT  
root pts/0 9:52pm 0.00s 0.30s 0.04s w  
int2 pts/1 1:02am 4222..s 2:22 2:21s int –d 0

[rootsjb /]# ssh int2 password

He entered the password and hit enter. Several more lines of code populated and left another single line waiting for his input:

[int2int2009_as /]#

"We're in!" said Stephen.

* * *

As Chuck descended the stairs he noticed that the faint green light emanating from below was not at all what he expected. He thought maybe it was some sidewalk illumination, little lights that lit up the direction he was supposed to walk. They hit his eyes in varying degrees of strength; some spots were long and strong, others were narrow and just barely visible.

The reason for that soon became apparent. The green light existed below the floor and was only visible due to the cracks in the floor. Most were more than cracks, however. Most were gaping holes that he could fit through, either by tucking his arms in close and jumping straight in, or lying down horizontally and sliding through.

The green below was not a friendly green. Although it didn't look anything near the tone or color of lava, the underbelly of a volcano was the first thing that came to Chuck's mind. It churned beneath the pure white floor and sloshed against itself like neon green and yellow bubbling soup.

When his feet hit the floor the stairs disappeared and the platform he stood on swayed, as though he were standing on a man-sized iceberg. He steadied himself, and then took a good look around. He looked up from where he'd come and saw nothing but white fog. He looked far in all directions and saw a gray wall completely surrounding him and containing this swimming pool of boiling green lava.

Clearly, the two previous rooms were intending to show Chuck that something was amiss. The stress and clutter of the Intersect had pushed him far below any reality and developed a place where he could hide. Or be safe. He didn't quite know. At this point it was still unclear to him whether he was supposed to accomplish tasks to stay alive—literally _alive_—or if they were going to bring him out of a mental closet.

Chuck was fairly certain, however, that to die in any life-like facet was not a good plan. He was not going to purposefully sacrifice himself to test the limits of this dream, or whatever it was. The Intersect wasn't going to help him down here, but, oddly enough, he felt like he didn't need it.

Kneeling down, Chuck examined the green slosh more closely. He knelt next to a hole that he couldn't accidentally fall into and lowered his hand closer to the green. It didn't feel warm, and no heat was rising from below the floor. If anything, the white platform was cool to the touch. He touched the tip of his finger to the slosh and it reminded him of a very light hair gel.

He could hear something, though. Whispers.

He took his finger out of the gel and the whispers stopped. Chuck looked around the arena again, as though someone was watching him. Then he put his whole hand into the gel.

"_We're successfully connected to the Intersect," said Stephen. "I set it up so that when I, or anyone else, tried to access the Intersect mainframe they'd have to go through a series of checks to ensure a quote unquote administrator was accessing it."_

"_What are you waiting for?" Casey asked, gruffly._

"_I'm just telling you as I go," said Stephen._

There was some click-clacking in the background, and he heard what sounded like a cough. Chuck felt like his father and Casey were standing right next to him. Their movements were so present it was like he could hear the movement of their clothing.

Chuck removed his hand from the slosh and stood up, shaking his head to get rid of the cobwebs.

"Was that what I thought it was?" Chuck asked aloud. His voice echoed around the room and quickly died out.

Smiling, he stuck his hand back into the slosh and waited for the voices to come back. But they were just whispers. He stuck his arm further down the hole, but the voices continued to grow softer until they disappeared all together. He gritted his teeth and got back to his feet.

Moving to another hole, he stuck his hand in again and waited. The voices returned at full volume.

"_So now that the Intersect knows you are the administrator, how are you going to see what it has done with Chuck's…mind?" asked Sarah. _Chuck's heart fluttered and he gulped.

"_Well, I can go through a series of prompts, asking the Intersect questions," said Stephen. "And we may just have to start with that until we figure out where everything is."_

"_Where everything is?" asked Ellie. "What the heck does that mean?"_

"_Look," said Stephen, exasperated. "I don't know how the virus really affected Chuck's mind. We know that it caused the Intersect to glitch, overload, and store an assload of data without properly disposing of the unused or underutilized data. I have to find where the source of the problem is. I have to find where the Intersect has spread. I have to find where the Intersect is rooted so that I can shut it down."_

"_Can we help?" asked Sarah._

Chuck felt something on his face. Startled, he pulled his hand out of the slosh and whipped around, reaching his hand up to touch his face, where the light, soft skin of a hand had been. There was nothing there.

"Whoa," he whispered.

Looking down at the slosh again he realized the green light was fading from hole he'd had his arm in. He turned and looked at the hole he'd just come from before and that, too, had lost its luminescence. He scooted over to another hole and stuck his arm in.

"_Here I am querying the Intersect database to return me basic elements of data," said Stephen. "Like the date of Pearl Harbor, the names of major political leaders in the Middle East. Yes, see how it retrieves the data, here on the screen? It formats and displays all the information within seconds. The Intersect is not only fully functional, it's still working at an extraordinary speed."_

"_That's good, right?" asked Sarah. _Again, Chuck felt the softness of a hand on his cheek. With his free hand, he reached up to touch his face, but he could not feel the hand the way he felt it on his skin.

"_Yes," said Stephen. "And at the same time…it's not entirely clear. If the Intersect is working at a higher level than it was designed to, we may have trouble accessing Chuck's mind at all."_

"_Can't you ask it a question that only Chuck could answer?" asked Sarah._

_Stephen was quiet for a moment. "Technically, I am only accessing the Intersect, not Chuck's mind. So, actually, by asking it a question only Chuck would know might help us determine whether there has been any interlocking."_

"_Interlocking?" asked Ellie._

"_Yes, whether Chuck's mind has become fused with the Intersect." Stephen paused. "Anyone know what I should ask him?"_

"_Ask him who Devon's best man was," said Ellie._

Chuck heard the click-clacking of the keyboard, and then, astoundingly, he heard the question in his own mind: "Who was Devon's best man?" from a voice that sounded like his own.

"Eric!" Chuck shouted. "His younger brother Eric!"

"_Any response?" asked Ellie._

_Stephen grunted. "This is very strange. Very strange indeed. The response was not a typical reply…the message seems to be garbled, filled with random characters and letters."_

Chuck thought hard. He wanted to give the correct answer to the Intersect, but it couldn't complete the circuit. He pulled his hand out of the slosh and stood up.

"What would happen if I completely immersed myself in this…lava?" Chuck asked aloud.

When his voice stopped its soft echo around the room the floor began to shake and he crouched low to stead himself. The floors broke and moved further apart, small pieces of the white floor cracked off and fell into the lava. He turned, watching the floor pieces become smaller and narrower. It would be difficult to get across the room without falling in.

He looked back down at the lava. It doesn't seem to harm him. He examined his arms. They were perfectly intact, no signs of burns or injuries. The lava just seemed less luminescent in certain areas now.

But on the other hand, Chuck felt strongly as though the lava was a commodity to be used carefully. A rare element that would allow him to peek outside of his mind into what was happening around him. And it made him aware of where he was. He wasn't dreaming.

He was trapped.

* * *

"That doesn't look like any sort of code or hidden message," said Sarah.

"No, and it sure doesn't look like another language," said Casey.

"It's not computer code or anything logical that the Intersect might try to spew," said Stephen.

"What does it mean, then?" asked Ellie.

"Well, it certainly means that Chuck's mind is somehow fused with the Intersect. And it seems to be the deepest part of his mind, the part where he stores his memories and, well…what makes Chuck Chuck. The Intersect hasn't taken over his brain functions, otherwise we would have been able to interpret the data that Chuck's mind sent. He heard my question and understood it enough to give us a response."

"It couldn't have just been the Intersect making something up?" asked Casey. "I mean, what if that garble is just a distraction, trying to make us believe something."

Stephen sighed. "The Intersect is not the Terminator, Colonel. It's not going to try and trick us, it can only give us what it has."

"You sure about that? I've seen the Intersect treat Chuck very peculiarly," said Casey.

"Well, that's a little different. While conscious, the Intersect is designed to work as a background process, but it has to be triggered or recalled by the host. Once it's data surfaces, it routes the information as electrical impulses to the brain and the brain..."

"All right, I get it," said Casey. "Not a Terminator."

"Dad... are you postulating that we can actively target the infused locations, the instances where the Intersect and the brain react simultaneously, and then _unlink_ them...somehow?" asked Ellie.

"Yes," said Stephen. "That is where I think this process will go."

"I hope you are not expecting me to do that, because I wouldn't have the first clue," said Ellie.

"All I need you to do is read the monitor," said Stephen. "If two unparallel actions occur, it means that the Intersect is acting simultaneously to the brain. I'll need you tell me which portion of the brain is producing the response, and narrowing it down as closely as you can to the fiber network, I can send commands to that specific line of code to fail off. If two or more actions are parallel, then the question is not being censored by the Intersect and we don't need to take any action."

"Can you please explain what you mean?" asked Sarah, who had gone extremely pale.

Stephen's face softened from his avid concentration. "The brain is broken down into a complex series of fibers, or axons, that send electrochemical responses to one another in order to complete every single thing the human body does, voluntarily and involuntarily. When I refer to a fiber network, I only mean the location of where two or more fibers cross to ignite an action or a response as a means of completing that transmission. So Ellie will be watching the monitors, which create a three-dimensional image of Chuck's brain, to accurately pinpoint where that interaction occurs." He took a deep breath. "With me so far?" Sarah nodded. "Good. Well, the Intersect relies on many ON-OFF switches, so to speak, that control what it has access to in the brain. In order for us to efficiently rewrite the program _and_ wake Chuck up, we need to turn some of those switches off. Ellie will tell me where the interaction is happening, and then I will turn off the path that the Intersect takes into Chuck's brain."

"That doesn't even sound possible," said Casey.

"Welcome to the Intersect two-point-oh," said Stephen, somewhat bitterly.

"We are not under a time crunch, all right, everyone? Let's take our time and do this properly. If you aren't sure where the axons are colliding, Ellie, we'll repeat the question until you're sure."

Ellie nodded.

"Ok, then. Let's do this somewhat routinely, shall we?" asked Stephen with a smile. "We'll start by asking frontal lobe questions."

* * *

Chuck looked around, feeling his heart beat more rapidly. If he was trapped in his own mind, and his dad and his sister were trying to free him, was it best for him to keep moving through this maze the Intersect had developed for him, or should he stay put? His whole body itched with the desire to keep moving. He didn't feel safe in this room anymore. The creepy lava beneath his unsteady floatation device made him uneasy and suspicious.

He jumped sideways onto another floating piece of the broken white floor. He caught his balance, then hopped to another. This one was small and he nearly lost his footing before he righted himself.

_If I have 18 books and two bookshelves, and want twice as many books on one shelf as the other, how many books go on each shelf?_

The question came from inside his mind, but it seemed to echo throughout the room. He looked to his feet, feeling unsteady again, and noticed the lava below him was rippling.

Within a second he had his answer. "12 and 6!" he shouted.

He waited, looking around. The lava became still again.

Then, without warning, an excruciating pain barreled through his head like an arrow. He fell backward and, with the limited space of his floatation to accompany his body, slid out from under him and he went headlong into the lava.

"_Excellent, Ellie," _s_aid Stephen._ _"The command was effective. How is his pulse, Sarah?_"

"_It's spiking, actually," said Sarah. "It just broke 100. But it's only at 104."_

"_Hmm," said Stephen, thoughtfully. "I assume that means that Chuck is feeling where we are removing the connections. However, if that is true, then it is as bad as I presumed it was and it is good we are doing this."_

"_How bad did you think it was?" asked Ellie._

"_I figured that Chuck's mind got lost inside the Intersect," said Stephen. "And that the reason he can't wake up is because he is stuck in a labyrinth of intangible data."_

Chuck thrashed his arms and hauled himself up to the surface of the lava. He gasped for air and sucked in deeply. He could still hear and feel his sister and father, but he pushed it to the back of his mind as he frantically fought his way onto the nearest floating floor piece.

As his legs swung up out of the lava, the last thing he heard was: _"Let's keep going. Word fluency…"_

On all fours, he gasped and panted for air, his head still resonating with pain. He cringed and rolled over onto his back.

_List all the words you can that begin with the letter C._

The command, once again, came from inside his head, abrasively ignoring his pain and ringing a bell to the rhythm of his headache. The command was impossible not to answer, but he was unable to speak like he had before.

It was clear in a moment that he didn't need to. His mind automatically started thinking about C words.

Cake. Cuticles. Crane. Cupid. Candy. Cab. Censor. Cabbage. Cabinet.

After the first dozen words, a dull ache began to form in his stomach. He felt like vomiting and passing out.

Census. Cistern. Corrupt. Coach. Chateau. Clean. Careful. Cease. Collate.

The dull ache continued to grow and grow until he forgot what he was trying to do, forgot what his task was. When he tried to remind himself, he had no conception of what he had been doing in order to stir the waters of his mind.

He laid motionless for several minutes. It might even have been hours. He could not tell. But the ache in his stomach was fading, now.

_List all the words you can that begin with the letter C._

The command came again, but Chuck, having no recollection of being asked it previously, heard the command but could not respond to it. The ache got a little worse, however, as he tried to scrounge up something in his mind to respond to the command.

The command was not given a third time. It wasted away to another portion of his brain and he was left with the reminder of an awful stomach pain.

Chuck got to his feet. He wobbled, but had relative control of his faculties and was able to jump onto another piece of floor, and to another. _Must get out of here…_

Another command.

_Explain how you get from the bookstore to the Rodin Sculpture Garden on the Stanford campus._

This time, as Chuck thought about the answer, he tried to keep moving. He jumped from one floating floor piece to the next, hoping he was nearing the perimeter of the room. As soon as he'd completed the map of the Stanford campus in his mind, the jolt of pain to his chest literally threw him backward. He cried out in pain as he fell into the green lava.

"_His pulse is spiking!" Sarah cried out. "It's almost at 130!"_

"_Quick, Devon, I need…" said Ellie, snapping her fingers._

"_I'm on it!" Devon shouted back, without letting her finish._

"_What's happening?" asked Sarah. _Chuck, still submerged under the lava, felt mesmerized as she cupped his face in her hands. He felt as though he was staring straight up at her. He couldn't move and wasn't fighting his way back up to the surface of the lava.

"_He's not breathing…" said Casey. _Chuck felt a finger under his nose, then a new warmth hover close to his mouth.

"_Is there something blocking his passageway?" asked Stephen._

"_He hasn't moved in hours!" said Sarah, frantic. She hit his face. "Come on, Chuck. Breathe! Just breathe!"_

The slapping is what did it. Chuck felt his arms again and began to find his way up to the surface. When he came out of the slosh, he had renewed vigor. The pain in his chest was almost unbearable, but it didn't affect his ability to swim, as though they were completely separate functions, as though he didn't need his lungs in order to exert energy. He swam and swam, one arm over the other, kicking his way past floating pieces of floor.

"_He's breathing again," said Sarah, "but his pulse is still going fast."_

"_I just gave him something to help with his heart rate," said Devon. "Don't worry, Sarah. Chuck is doing great."_

"_We have to keep going, though," said Stephen. "We've already come so far."_

"_Give his body a moment to catch up, dad," said Ellie. "Obviously this is affecting him physically. What if he's actually in pain?"_

"_There's no way Chuck can be in pain," said Stephen. "All of this is happening inside the Intersect. Only pieces of Chuck's mind are integrated with the Intersect."_

"_That may be," said Devon, "but pain is what it is because the brain interprets it as such."_

There was a moment of silence, and Chuck slowed his swimming down, wondering why they'd all stopped talking.

"_What is it, dad?" asked Ellie._

"_That may be it…" said Stephen._

"_What…may be it…?" asked Sarah._

"_Pain," said Stephen. "If Chuck is _feeling_ through the Intersect, that could be why all of these other things are being routed through the Intersect. We've been asking Chuck questions to stimulate areas of the frontal lobe in order to decipher where these connections are taking place, but we could just as easily be asking him for memories about his life or for facts about current events not included in the Intersect. But they all trace back to something he's felt before."_

"_I think I'm following, but I'm not sure what you're conclusion is," said Ellie. "What is the point of this discovery?"_

"_Well, it could make our task a lot easier if I'm right," said Stephen. "Instead of going through each hemisphere of the brain, we just have to put Chuck in enough mental pain that it forces him to escape from the Intersect."_

"_What?" Four voices shouted in unison._

Chuck felt something with his hands. A firm base. He grasped it and held himself against it. He reached a hand up and felt it's surface. It was large and flat and did not rock in the slosh he was in. He hoisted himself up, but left one of his feet to dangle in the water.

"_When we're in pain," Stephen explained, "we find ways of doing things to either alleviate or stop it all together. It causes you to access every piece of your brain, searching for something that will make it hurt less. While he searches for a way to get out, however that looks inside his mind, there will be inconsistencies in the way the Intersect chooses to help or not help him, If he can overcome the Intersect and not allow it to draw him inward, he can get out on his own. And every time it looks to us like he is using the Intersect, we stimulate him with pain."_

"_That sounds horrible," said Ellie._

"_What's wrong with the way we're doing it now?" asked Sarah._

"_Yeah, that doesn't sound very humane," said Devon._

"_Trust me," said Stephen. "Chuck is in there, and that alone instills confidence in me that he is the only one who can get himself out of this. If we continue to mess with his head and his brain like this, we could very well give him permanent brain damage. At least this way, if and when he survives, he will still have full control over all his cognitive functions."_

Chuck pulled his foot out of the slosh.

Time to prepare for pain.

He stood up and looked around. There was definition in the floor again. It was semi circular and had levels leading up to a platform about three feet off the ground. He climbed the steps and stood up on it, looking around from where he'd come. The vastness of mysterious green slosh was impossible for him to grasp. There were no boundaries that he could determine, no depth to the lava, and no telling his point of origin.

He wasn't trapped. No. He was in the middle of a gigantic puzzle. Smiling to himself, he turned away from the lava and, before his eyes, a door formed in the center of the platform. He reached for the handle and opened it.

* * *

Managing Chuck's pain with concentrated and infrequent doses of medication was all they could do in the next four hours. Sarah and Ellie stayed by Chuck's side, watching the monitors still relaying the synaptic responses of Chuck's brain to whatever was going on inside his head. Stephen had disconnected his computer from the Intersect and had retreated into a far corner to allow the doctors room to work.

"I've never had to just manage a person's pain before…based solely on his vitals and having nothing to do with an operation," whispered Dr. Titus to Devon. "This is quite illuminating."

Sarah glanced over at him, curiously. Dr. Titus caught her gaze and coughed, looking embarrassed.

"Sorry," said Sarah, "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"I wasn't thinking," said Dr. Titus. "That wasn't a very professional comment for me to make. In present company, any way."

Sarah ignored his apology. "How will all of this affect Chuck?"

"All of what, exactly?" asked Dr. Titus.

"The medication. The prolonged pain. Whatever all of these sensors are picking up…" her voice trailed off. "How will it affect his brain, or… his mind?"

Dr. Titus glanced at Devon, then to Ellie, unsure of how he should answer. "Are you asking as a concerned fiancé, or as his CIA partner?"

Sarah looked at Chuck's face, lightly touching his bald head. "To me… they are one and the same," she said, in a whisper. "Look, I'm a big girl, I can handle it. I just want to know, flat out, what I can expect."

Dr. Titus nodded. "Well, the prolonged coma is always concerning and there will be some element of memory loss, though what kind is fairly unpredictable. Sometimes patients lose the couple days or hours leading up to their coma, sometimes they lose memories about one specific event or person. Sometimes they forget their name, but can recite all the lyrics to their favorite songs and remember the street address of their childhood home." He gave Sarah a half-smile. "The only time memory loss is permanent is when there has been brain damage. From what Mr. Bartowski, Ellie, and Devon have described to me about the Intersect, that doesn't seem to be the case here. If they can rewrite the program to compensate for it's inefficiencies, there's no stopping the brain from being able to remap the routes it once knew. The brain is very powerful and has very specific ways of operating."

"There are a bunch of _if_s in there," said Sarah, with a deep sigh.

"That's the hiccup, really," said Dr. Titus. "There are so many things we assume about the human body, but time and time again miracles beyond our understanding turn predicted outcomes on their heads. People wake up from vegetative states. Cancer disappears. Tumors shrink. Doctors hate hearing about that kind of stuff because we feel like any positive outcome should have been achievable while we had the patient open on the operating table, not when they're lying in bed awaiting death to come and take them. But secretively, we are relieved, which sounds horrible."

"It's pride," said Devon, with a chuckle. "Pure ego."

Ellie and Dr. Titus laughed. "Yes," said Dr. Titus. "A great deal of it is, you're right. Sometimes I let my ego trump my humanitarianism."

Devon looked at his watch. "How long has it been?" asked Sarah.

"Four hours since we started the pain stimulants," said Devon. "You know, did it ever strike you as ironic that we are inflicting pain _and_ medicating him, all at once?" His question was directed to Dr. Titus.

Dr. Titus shrugged. "The medication isn't to relieve his pain," he said. "So no." Devon elbowed him in the ribs. "Hey!"

Devon smirked. "I don't know how much longer we should do this," he said.

"We'll do it until he comes out of his coma," said Stephen, still sitting silently in the corner, arms crossed. Mary sat at his feet, the two feeling a bit awkward around one another.

Devon snorted. "I still don't feel right about this," he said, under his breath.

Ellie was watching Sarah, who was examining Chuck's head. "It'll grow back," she whispered.

Sarah smiled. "I know," she said. "It's just…so not Chuck. Nothing about the past two months has felt normal or right. First we have to put on a show to the CIA that we're not together anymore, then we get deployed on a mission that forces Chuck to bleach his hair stark blonde. Now this…"

"Sarah?" said Ellie, smirking. "Nothing about your relationship with my brother is normal."

Sarah laughed. "I suppose you're right."

Chuck's body shook, just then. And then again, the second time more violently. He began convulsing, almost seizing, until in one, long gasping breath, followed by a long scream of pain, he sat bolt upright, the sensors ripping from his head and knocking both Ellie and Sarah backward off their chairs.

Eyes wide, he lifted his hands up to his head to feel his scalp. He looked at the people surrounding him, each of whom had gotten to their feet, in a defensive position. Chuck jumped off the bed and backed away toward the door.

"Chuck… Chuck…everything is all right. Look, it's me! Ellie!" Ellie approached him, cautiously reaching out a hand. "You need to lie down, you aren't well."

"He hasn't used his legs in over four days," whispered Dr. Titus. "He won't last long on his feet."

Chuck's eyes darted round, and finally landed on Sarah. "They're in Ust'ilimsk. 58 degrees, zero minutes North. 102 degrees, 40 minutes East."

"Chuck...?" Sarah said, slowly approaching him. He still watched her, still held her gaze.

Then his eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed.


	25. Agde, France

**Chuck vs the Virus**

* * *

I know this story has drug on, quite a bit, I wrote myself into a bit of a hole at one point. But I appreciate all who have stuck around! Hopefully the final chapters will be rewarding. We are nearing the end! And no more science, I swear. At least not like the last chapter. Good grief, I don't know who allowed me to do that.

Lastly, in case anyone cares, I changed my pen name to OOHiMBLiND … since my infatuation with Ian Somerhalder ended after I met Mr. Zachary Levi ;)

* * *

**Chapter 24: Agde, France**

When Chuck's eyes finally opened, Sarah was by his side. Half asleep, she was leaning her elbow on his hospital bed and half lying on his stomach. She watched his eyes flutter open and, drearily, she gave him a wide smile.

She'd been briefed, brought up to speed, and warned about all the negative possibilities that could occur in the wake of upgrading the Intersect, and of the dangerous undertaking they'd done previously to modifying the Intersect on the fly. She knew there was a great possibility that Chuck wouldn't know her, knew that it was an even greater likelihood that he wouldn't be very coherent. But she was ready. She was scared, yes, but she was ready.

His light brown eyes looked lazily around the room. He looked exhausted, as though he were in bed after a long day. But there was an alertness behind that exhaustion that relieved Sarah, because that was the Chuck Bartowski she recognized.

"Hey," she said, smiling. She hadn't slept much over the last 24 hours, wanting to be awake for whenever he decided to regain consciousness.

Chuck lifted one side of his mouth into an unenthusiastic half-smile. "Hey," he said, hoarse. He coughed.

Sarah stood up and reached for the cup of water at his bedside table. Carefully she put the straw into his mouth and he sipped. When he was done, he laid his head back on the pillow, swallowed hard, and stared up at the ceiling.

"What the hell happened to me?" he asked, finally.

Sarah hesitated. "Chuck?"

Chuck looked at her. "Yeah?"

"What do you remember?" asked Sarah.

Chuck thought for a moment. "Nothing solid, I don't think. I remember being in pain. I remember pain." He shut his eyes. "But I don't feel any of that now. Not at all. Not any aches."

Sarah reached up and touched his head, stroking the smooth top and thinking longingly of even his blonde hair. Any hair would do. This would take some getting used to.

Chuck's eyes went wide and he reached up to touch his own head. "What the…?" He pushed himself up into a sitting position. "Where's my hair?" he asked, his voice rising a couple octaves.

Sarah grimaced, wondering if she should have saved pointing that out until later. "We were very worried about you, Chuck. They had to shave it in order to correctly place some sensors on your head."

"Sensors?" asked Chuck, looking around. "Sarah, can you please tell me what happened?"

It was the first time he'd said her name since they'd arrived back in Burbank, and it instilled within her the confidence she knew, but was scared of really claiming, due to the odd nature of the Intersect.

"Yes, I can tell you," she said. "But I need you to tell me the last thing you remember."

Chuck shut his eyes and thought. "I have no perception of how much time has, or hasn't past," he said, grimly. "I feel like I've been away for a really long time, but also like it could have all been a dream and it was only a couple minutes."

Sarah shook her head. "Chuck, I understand, OK? I just need to know the last thing you remember so that I don't forget anything, or, I don't know, so that I don't repeat stuff you already knew. I'm not going to be upset if you can't remember something."

Chuck nodded, but still watched her warily. He was resisting something, she could tell. "I remember being in…a city, where we found my dad because… because something was wrong with me and we thought that only he'd be able to fix it. I remember that we found him, that Jill kidnapped us and was going to perform some sort of operation before we escaped…" Slowly he began to grasp more details, and by the time he got to the point where he and Sarah had been strapped down into chairs in the basement of the television studio, Sarah couldn't honestly decide whether he was leaving out details because they were unimportant to the order of events he remembered, or because he couldn't remember them.

The important thing was that he remembered everything remarkably well, better than she had been prepared for, and better than any of them could have hoped for.

"What about the Intersect?" asked Chuck. "Is it fixed?"

Sarah shrugged. "I think that is what your sister and father are hoping." She sat down next to him on the bed. "They worked on it for a solid two days after you jumped off the operating table," said Sarah. "And after that, it only took 24 hours for you to wake up. I think that is a very good sign."

"Operating table?" asked Chuck.

Sarah smiled. "I think it's my turn to tell a story, don't you?"

* * *

Casey and Mary walked into the large meeting room off the central corridor inside the Amulet. Gathered to meet with them were only four other individuals: General Beckman, representing the NSA, Harold Wyatt, representing the office of the Secretary of Defense, Lieutenant General Nicolas Combes, representing the Marine Corps, and Penelope Farrow, representing the United States on the U.N. Security Council.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice," said Mary Bartowski as she entered the room, closely followed by Colonel Casey. "I assume you've had a moment or two to become acquainted with one another?" They nodded their confirmation. "Good. Joining me, here, is Colonel Casey of the NSA, formerly a Marine and a high ranking agent within this compound. For the last three years, Colonel Casey and General Beckman have spearheaded the most remarkable field agent team to have ever come out of the CIA." Mary nodded at General Beckman.

General Beckman stood up. "Three years ago, a very intricate set of information was stolen from us and given to a civilian, and because of the unique nature of the information, we were forced to integrate him into our team. That has proven to be a success, though it may not appear so at first." She took a deep breath. "Twenty years ago, an agent of ours developed an organic computer capable of being imbedded into a person's brain, called the Intersect. Charles Bartowski received the Intersect in the form of an email, accidentally downloaded it into his brain, and has held the secrets of our joint agencies in his head, using them to provide our agents with the ability to accurately track down enemies, fight terrorism at home and abroad, and to be on the alert for anything out of place."

"What can the Intersect do, exactly?" asked Lt. General Nicolas Combes.

General Beckman looked at Casey. He cleared his throat. "In the field it works like a trigger. If something Chuck sees or hears exists in the Intersect, it automatically downloads all relevant information and makes them readily available to him in order to relay to us. Can't tell you exactly how it works, but one way or another, Chuck has the ability to know, for example, uh, floor plans, known associates of terrorists, and specifications of fighter jets."

Harold Wyatt, Nicolas Combes, and Penelope Farrow exchanged looks of awe.

"So why are we here?" asked Penelope, leaning forward in her seat.

"We have been chasing a group of terrorists known as The Pound for almost a month, now. We were not aware of their organization, as we are now, beforehand, even though we knew we had a threat centralizing in Russia," said Colonel Casey, still standing tall. "Chuck has been through the ringer for the last couple weeks because The Pound was able to implant a virus into the Intersect, which caused a great deal of trouble. The virus has finally been removed and the Intersect is back up to full strength. We hope."

"We're here today to ask for your support as we raid a village in Eastern Central Russia where we believe The Pound's main headquarters are," said Mary. "And where we believe they are developing some sort of device that can steal the information from Chuck's head."

Their guests nodded in understanding.

"In order for the U.N. to formally submit, we would need to present this before the whole council," said Penelope. "I cannot just grant my permission here." She looked from General Beckman to Harold Wyatt. "But…you already know that. So, I am still confused as to why we're here."

"Needless to say, Ms. Farrow, we will be going into Russia with or without your permission…" General Beckman began, but she was cut off.

"If I may, General…" said Harold Wyatt, raising a hand. "As acting Deputy Secretary of Defense, I know that the President of the United States expressly wishes any and all terrorist threats to United States secrets to be kept on the tightest lockdown. If you believe that you know the location of this terrorist group, and can bring some of them into custody alive, the Department of Defense fully supports any initiative that you propose." He turned to Penelope. "And in that case, there is no need of U.N. involvement until these terrorists have been presented before the council for their crimes."

"We wanted to paint the picture of this organization for you all before heading into Russia to take them down," said General Beckman. "_That _is our true purpose. We are in full-disclosure mode right now, which has you know is a rarity for us. By listening and using this information to do your jobs effectively, you support us by allowing us to continue utilizing the Intersect as it was meant to be. The Intersect was designed to share information within the United States when sharing information was difficult. We want to continue to use the Intersect, but not in secret any more. We want the Intersect to be useful in all facets of government and, ultimately, the protection of the United States."

"We're listening," said Lt. General Combes.

* * *

"What do you mean, _I'm not going_?" asked Chuck, his eyes wide. "That's…that's…"

"There is no way the United States government is going to let our most valuable asset accompany the Marines as they invade Russia," said General Beckman. "Chuck, you are extremely essential to the security of the United States and I cannot authorize you to be a part of this mission."

"But I could be the only one who knows where to go! Or who the key players are!" said Chuck, outraged. "You can't be serious."

"Tactical units have already been deployed," said General Beckman. "We briefed the various parties involved this morning and everyone knows the risks of not having you there."

"Bartowski… this is the best way to do this," said Casey. "As a Marine, I never operated under the idea that I or my commanding officers knew everything we needed to going in, but we knew that we had the motive and the reasoning behind our mission, and that is what made us successful."

"We could never have found their base without you," said General Beckman.

"But I can't even remember giving you those coordinates," said Chuck. "What if it wasn't related to The Pound at all? What if it was a trap!"

"That is a risk we're willing to take," said General Beckman. "If it is a trap, then that means some operatives of The Pound will be there, and we can take whoever we can into custody."

"Chuck, this is not our fight," said Sarah. "We've done our job: gather intelligence. We aren't combat-ready. Not in this sense, anyway. This is a military operation."

Chuck took a deep breath. Sarah's bit of reason settled with him and he let the tension in his head loosen. Sarah patted his arm. "And this isn't the end of it, you know. If it is a trap, we will have to figure out what in your head triggered this location."

General Beckman coughed. "Let's not dwell on that. I have buttered you up to these people, Chuck, and I do not want to lose this one." She glanced sideways at Casey. "Though, there are a couple more pieces to this that we can't ignore."

Sarah gave her a quizzical look. "And what's that?"

"You two lied to the CIA about your relationship," said General Beckman, sternly looking between Sarah and Chuck. "At this point, no one beyond this group of people knows about your engagement. We've had married field agents that work together before, and having worked with you two for the past three years I know that I'd be remiss to punish this breach by assigning you to different partners. I do however want to extend a firm warning: I might not always be in the position to forgive this kind of deceit. Do you understand my meaning?"

"Yes, General Beckman, ma'am," said Chuck.

"Yes, ma'am," said Sarah.

"Good. Secondly, the other thing we can't ignore…" said General Beckman. "Jill Roberts."

Chuck's face fell sullen. "Jill."

Sarah cringed and snarled. "Jill."

"The main reason I'm not sending the three of you in with the tactical team to bring in leaders of The Pound is because we need to find and secure Jill Roberts before she joins forces with any other enemy camps," said General Beckman. "She _is_ a threat to national security and if we cannot find her, then we will be forced to put her on the Most Wanted list. Once you're on that list…" she shook her head, then lowered her voice. "I'd rather not put her on that list and group her with all the others who've been on it."

"We understand," said Chuck.

General Beckman motioned them all to the screen on the other side of the table. "We picked up this airport surveillance a day after The Pound escaped from Chester, Montana." She played the sequence, which found Jill at check in, at security, at a coffee shop, at a bookstore, sitting on a bench in the middle of the terminal, and then boarding a plane.

"She's sure not making an effort to lay low," said Sarah.

"We have no clear indication of what The Pound's next move is. We think it has something to do with Chuck, of course, but what exactly…we can't be sure," said Beckman. "This footage is from Seattle, and the plane she boarded was going to Paris."

"Paris?" said Chuck.

"Any idea why Jill might go to Paris?" she asked.

"Not for family," said Chuck. "And The Pound doesn't have any affiliates in that area of France."

"What about affiliates of Wallstreet?" asked Sarah. "We went to Rio, originally, because The Pound was merely a weapons entity at that point. Could they be trying to finish a deal with Wallstreet?"

Chuck shook his head. "I don't know. From what I learned about Wallstreet, they seemed to be locally based, not internationally."

"Can we play the footage again?" asked Sarah, stepping closer to the screen.

Beckman replayed it.

"She goes from security check to get coffee," says Sarah. "And from coffee to the bookstore."

"And from the bookstore to the terminal," said Chuck.

"Go back to the bookstore," said Sarah. Beckman stopped the footage when Jill walked into the bookstore. She seemed to be casually walking through the isles, looking idly at everything and not really intent on buying anything.

"What are you thinking, Sarah?" asked Chuck.

"If there was any greater meaning to her visit to this airport, it would have happened while she was in the bookstore. A drop, an exchange of information. Something." Sarah kept watching the footage closely.

"There," said Casey. Beckman paused the film. "That book she picked up." Beckman zoomed in. "It looks like a French cookbook."

Chuck walked over to the computer and brought up Google, punched in a couple words. "This looks like it… French Provincial Cooking by Elizabeth David."

"Crawl through the next couple frames," said Sarah to General Beckman. "Does it look like she takes anything out of it?"

"Hard to say," said General Beckman, squinting at the screen. "She's certainly reading something. Notice how she doesn't page through the book?"

"Don't suppose we can make out the page number, can we?" asked Chuck. "Some of the book is online."

Sarah and General Beckman worked with the screen controls until they could make out the page number. "101," said General Beckman.

Chuck scrolled through the book, praying that that page would have a preview online. It did.

"Herbs, Spices, Condiments, etc., Used in French Cookery…" he said. "This page describes thym, tilleul, tisane, tomatoes concassées, concentré de tomatoes, and truffes, and, um, then it goes into a more detailed explanation of the truffes."

Sarah walked over to him and began to read aloud: "The truffle grows most readily in sandy or clay and chalky soils. Divers varieties are found in various climates. The most highly prized variety is, without contradiction, the truffle of Périgord, black, with a rough skin and a penetrating scent. It is found particularly in the Charente, in the neighbourhood of Périgueux and Angoulême, also in the Gard, the Isère, the Drôme, the Ardèche, the Hérault, the Tarn, the Vaucluse, the Lozère and the…" She glanced up at Chuck, who looked nauseous. "Chuck, are you all right?"

Chuck opened his eyes. "I flashed. The mouth of the Hérault river is in Agde, France and it comes straight out of the Cévennes mountains."

"And?" said Beckman, impatiently.

Chuck shut his eyes again. "I don't know... that's all the Intersect is giving me. There's something there, a collection of people that many mercenaries have used, but whom we've never been able to pinpoint due to the fact that they operate under the protection of some French consulate. It feels like a prime place for handing off weapons. It's not a busy seaport and that area is heavily socialist, which would make them really friendly with Russian terrorists." He opened his eyes again. "But the Intersect is not linking the town to either The Pound. We don't even know for sure if Jill was reading what was on the page, or if there was a note inside."

Casey, who had taken over control of the footage, was staring at the screen with his arms crossed. "If she wasn't reading the book, she didn't take anything from it either. Whatever she was doing, she put it down clean and moved on."

Beckman looked at him. "We might be too late to recover anything from that book, but call the bookstore at the airport and have them pull it out. You three go to that airport, search that bookstore, and follow any and all leads. Got it?"

"Yes ma'am," they all said together.

General Beckman let her eyes linger on Chuck for a moment. "It's good to have you back, Agent Bartowski, in whatever manner you may now be with us." She left the room.

Casey and Sarah rounded on him. "Is the Intersect not working properly?" asked Casey.

Chuck shrugged. "It's not working like it used to. I used to barely think about something and would have a flood of information, with links and associations all over the place. I'm not getting that same flood anymore." He grimaced. "It feels like the data is being filtered."

Casey and Sarah exchanged a glance. "Maybe that was a part of the modifications your sister and dad made to the Intersect," said Sarah. "They said they needed to modify it so that it wouldn't overtake you like it did before."

Chuck sighed. "This will take some getting used to."

"Probably," said Sarah. "But it works, and you aren't crashing like you used to, so both are positive steps forward."

"Where is my family, anyway?" asked Chuck.

"We're keeping them in witness protection until we can bring the whole Chester fiasco under control," said Casey. "The media had a field day with it."

Chuck rolled his eyes. "I can't even imagine."

"Let's gear up," said Casey. "We're going to Seattle." He picked his pack up off the table and started for the door. When neither Sarah nor Chuck moved, he stopped and turned round. "What's the hold up?"

Sarah was looking at Chuck, but at Casey's words she turned to look at him. "We'll meet you there in just a sec."

Casey looked at Chuck, then nodded. "I'll grab our gear. Meet me at the doors." And he left the room.

Sarah turned back to Chuck and laid a hand on his arm. "Are you all right?" she asked.

He looked down at her with a half smile. "I feel tired," he said, honestly. "But not so tired that I can't do this." He heaved a sigh. "It's a strange sort of tiredness… more like, I've been away on vacation and thinking about going back to work is, uh, anti-climactic, or something."

Sarah smiled and moved closer to him, laying her head on his chest. "It's so good to have you up and about again," she whispered. "I don't know what I would have done…"

"If the Intersect had driven me insane? If it would have taken over my mind?" he asked, half-humorously. He wrapped his arms around her and they stood there in silence for several minutes. Chuck breathed steadily and concentrated on Sarah's heartbeat. He could feel it pounding on his chest, he could feel her heart beat as well as he could feel his own. This is what life feels like, he thought. This is tangible. This is real.

"What are you thinking about?" Sarah asked, her head still on his chest.

Chuck didn't answer immediately. He thought about it. "There is a lot to be thankful for," he said, finally. "I know that I often underestimate the small things and try to jump right to the big things…"

"What do you mean?" Sarah leaned her head back to look into his eyes.

"I always look for those defining moments, you know? Where I can say _this_ is the moment when I knew, whatever, and _this _is the moment where I decided, whatever. And I build up those moments in my head to be so important until I've forgotten everything that has gotten me to the point we're at now. Well, not forgotten completely, but definitely lost sight of."

Sarah raised her eyebrow. "Are you talking about something specifically?"

Chuck shrugged. "I'm talking about a lot of things. I'm talking about us, our relationship. I'm talking about my time with the CIA, my relationship with my sister. The time I spent at Stanford. The friends I used to have, the friends I have now." He sighed and closed his eyes. "Nothing feels very concrete right now. I still feel like I'm drifting in and out of sleep."

Sarah reached up and touched his head. It was already starting to prickle with stubble. "Chuck, you don't have to reprimand yourself for not remembering the little things when there are big things going on. We remember the little things during the important moments, like conversations with old friends, or reminiscing on the holidays, or during traditions. We need both." She stretched upward and laid a light kiss on his lips. "And if there is _anyone_ who appreciates moments, it's you, Chuck," she whispered. "You are the moments of my life that I will always remember."

He smiled. "And you are the moments that _I_ will always remember." He hugged her close. "I will always fight to protect you."

Sarah hugged him back. "I don't need to you fight for me Chuck. I need you to fight _with_ me."

* * *

Sarah watched Chuck sleep on the plane. Casey sat next to her reading the Sky Mall magazine and anxiously looking up and down the first class cabin. The two and a half hour flight into the Seattle airport was nearly complete, and Chuck had been asleep since the plane leveled at 32,000 feet.

She was forced to wake him as they landed at the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport and rolled into their terminal. He opened his eyes groggily; she kissed his cheek and helped him up. He got quite a few stares for his baldness, which Sarah thought was odd, since many men choose that hairstyle. He lifted her pack off her shoulder and slung it on his own, then wrapped an arm around her waist as they walked through the jet bridge leading into the airport. She looked up at him with a sweet smile that hinted something much deeper. He returned the smirk and behind them Casey grunted.

The Seattle airport was busy, and all too soon Chuck and Sarah found it impossible to continue walking as they were. She took her pack back, he removed his arm, and they held hands as Casey led them to the bookstore. Chuck looked around, feeling as though his baldness was drawing even more attention than his stark blonde hair had. He felt exposed and vulnerable. He thought Sarah seemed to sense this, or sense something was off, because she pointed at a souvenir shop across the way.

"Do you want to get a cap?" she asked.

Casey heard her question and stopped walking. "What?"

"I was talking to Chuck," she said. "Should we get him a cap?"

"Why?" asked Casey.

Sarah looked up at Chuck. Chuck gave a half-smile. "I'll be fine."

"Will it make you feel more comfortable?" asked Casey. He stepped back closer to them.

"I just feel a little conspicuous," he said, nervously looking around.

"It's just because you've never been bald before," said Casey, leaning in and delivering his comment in a whisper. "If you rock it, if you own it, no one will realize it's unnatural. This is the part of the job where you are who you look like to other people." Then, for the first time in Chuck's memory, Casey clapped a hand on his shoulder. "We need you for this, Chuck. You have to be a spy."

Chuck gulped, nodded. "I'm fine, I don't need a cap." Sarah wrapped her arms around his arm and leaned her head against his shoulder. Casey nodded, his features moving ever so slightly into a look of satisfaction.

They continued walking and, shortly, arrived at the bookstore where Jill had made a quick stop. Casey walked into the store, flashed his badge, and the woman behind the desk gave him a, "Just one moment," and hurried into the back room. Casey looked back at his partners, nodded, and the women reemerged from the storage room with the cookbook. He handed her a twenty-dollar bill and left the store.

They hurried to the nearest private wi-fi enclosure and looked through the book.

"Page 101, right?" said Casey, flipping through the pages.

"Right," said Chuck. Sarah opened her pack and pulled out a number of items. "What's all that?"

"Different dyes to illuminate any hidden text on the page, blacklight, the usual," she said casually.

"Here it is, right as you read it, Walker," said Casey, pointing to the page.

"Nothing seems like it was written on," said Chuck. "It looks normal."

"Looks can be deceiving, hmm, baldy?" Sarah chided. He rolled his eyes.

She began with the black light, carefully pulling it down the page, looking closely for anything that was out of place. She tried two other lights that were useful for detecting certain inks in various invisible hues. As a last resort, she dipped a q-tip in the orange dye, cast a look at Casey, who nodded, and she began spreading the dye across the page. It absorbed quickly and spread, exposing the whole page in a thick, sopping amber liquid.

They all exchanged looks of relief. "Well, we have our answer," said Casey. "Ready to go to France?"

"Je suis né pour ça," said Chuck, standing up straight. Sarah raised an eyebrow, and he grinned. "I was born ready."

Casey checked his watch. "Our flight leaves in twenty minutes," he said. "Beckman had them book us a flight just in case you were right." He smirked.

"Just in case?" asked Chuck, feigning indignation.

Casey just smiled and led them out of the cubicles. "Let's get some coffee, huh?"

"We're already a week behind her," said Chuck, not moving from where he stood. "And now it's going to take another two days to get to where she went a week ago. What are we really expecting to find?"

"Whatever is going on in France is more complex than a simple vacation spot," said Sarah. "The location is in the Intersect, after all. Whether Jill is there, or it leads us to another location, it doesn't matter. We're just going to follow the only evidence we've got."

"Fair enough," said Chuck.

* * *

Jill sat on the patio of a cafe at the southern most tip of Agde, France. A quaint town filled mostly with commercial businesses run by a conglomerate of socialist bums whose only political affiliation was to the size of their wallets. Their patriotism was easily purchased, though their hands were currently dipped into many pockets, but their secrecy and ability to keep all their activity on the down-low was the most admirable Jill had ever witnessed.

She kept cool in the early morning sun as she sipped her espresso and looked through that day's agenda. There was a lot to be done. She only had to be here another three days before she could return to Irina's side for the last phase of their plan.

The _plan _had exploded beyond what she'd originally imagined. The plan that Irina had divulged at the beginning was nothing to what was taking place now. Their plans with Chuck were almost too horrible to think about, but she continually tried to separate herself from the memory of the man she knew in college, even the one she reconnected with a year ago. There was too much at stake, and too much to look forward to, to back down now or let her feelings get in the way.

She set her phone down on the table and picked up the newspaper. She liked the French newspapers because there was nothing about America in them; at least nothing of significance to her. Now being a woman without a country, Jill prided herself on knowing as little about her first home as possible. She only checked the major sites for news that might warn her to stay away from certain areas, as the CIA had to be looking for her at this point.

That was, after all, why Irina gave her this job in Nowheresville, France, wasn't it? The city had under 30 thousand people and even though it felt busy, it was nothing in comparison to Paris, or Moscow, or Manhattan, or L.A. It was small-time bustling.

Her phone rang. "Yes?" she answered.

"We're ready for inspection," said a man, with a crisp French edge to his poor English. Jill also loved that these people forced themselves to speak her language while she was here. Sure, she was fluent in French and Russian, but they didn't know that. They didn't know she could understand their insults and perverted jokes about her. It only aided in her ability to do her job and report back to Irina how they might make things faster, and do it less expensively.

She was coming into her own.

"I'll be there in ten," she said.

* * *

Irina hung up the phone and looked over at Henri. "Jill is on her way to inspection," she informed him. "We'll know soon whether we can initiate phase three by the end of the day."

Henri toyed with the mouse on his desk and leaned on his armrest. "What is your plan with the CIA agent?"

"Chuck?" asked Irina, laughing. "You mean if he recovers from your little trick?"

Henri nodded.

"Kill him, obviously," said Irina, coldly. "He knows too much."

"But he'd lead them right to us," said Henri. "I don't know why you didn't kill him when you had the chance."

Irina rolled her eyes. "If we had simply killed him, all energy would have been focused on us, finding us, stopping us. By corrupting the Intersect, we distract them... his blond girlfriend, that large NSA man, and even his father who built the damn thing. Because we distracted them, we were able to launch phase two, and as you know, once it started, it will be nearly impossible to stop."

Henri gave her a half-smile. "And what if they find us before we can launch phase three? What good is phase two, then?"

Irina scoffed. "They'll never find us here."

"What if?" asked Henri, leaning back in his chair. "What if they find the Council? What if they discover Agde?"

Irina laughed. "I have no doubt they will discover Agde. I hope they do! That means I don't have to kill Jill myself, and, oh, I've grown ever so fond of her."

Henri shook his head. "You are a very complicated woman."

Irina gave him a coy smile. "I try very hard, Henri. Thank you." She glanced at the thin, silver watch on her wrist. "Speaking of the Council, I believe they're expecting us." Henri nodded and they both stood, he following her out of their workroom into the larger meeting room.

The conference camera was already connected and the members of the council were all on the screen, talking amongst themselves. It was Korbov, the senior-most member of The Pound, who noticed them enter the room.

"Are you ready, then?" asked Korbov, gruffly. "We don't have much time to spare."

"We have the time it takes to get the job done," said Irina. "So we have until we begin phase three."

Korbov frowned, not appreciating the disrespect. "Bring us up to speed."

"We have twenty-five Herrings currently in the last stages of their production, Hummingbird is on-scene to observe and then accompany them back to me, here, in Ust'ilimsk. Our soldiers, who will be carrying them into the headquarters of the targets we've prearranged, will be here just after you arrive tomorrow, and we will be prepared to deploy them within 24 hours of their arrival." Irina stood very still, arms crossed, as she rattled off the update to her council members. Henri stood silently behind her.

"And the CIA agent?" asked one of the two women.

"He is neutralized," said Irina. "We've successfully distracted the CIA from pursuing us for a time so that we can put phase three into effect. There has been no CIA activity in this area or toward Russia in 8 days."

There was a murmur between council members. They were excited.

"And when, do you believe, that we will have control over the systems of the major government institutions?" asked another man. The eagerness in his eyes was blatantly unmasked.

Irina smiled her evil, broad smile. Not a hint of joy, but dripping with the pleasure of accomplishment, and of knowing that they'd soon have their country back.

"Once our soldiers enter the buildings of the institutions, they only need 15 minutes before our computers have access to their data," said Irina. "If you'd like the more technical details, I'm sure Henri would love to explain, that, however, is the extent of my ability to use the correct jargon. I _do_know, however, that it will not take long, assuming the soldiers can get the Herring inside the building."

"And do you have a fool proof plan for getting them into the buildings?" asked Korbov, harshly. There was a hint of fear in his voice, as though he was dreading everything going sour.

"Nothing is fool proof," said Irina with a scowl. "Unfortunately, we are riddled with fools in every facet of our line of work. But we have been preparing these soldiers for quite some time to do exactly what it is they are about to do. We have countermeasures and we have plan B, C, and D in case our original plan is thwarted." She put her hands on her hips. "Now, any further inquiries, or shall we reconvene tomorrow when you've all arrived back here at headquarters."

"Good work, Irina," said Korbov. "Until tomorrow, then."

The screens went blank.

Irina couldn't contain her smile. "We are so close, Henri. So close."

* * *

Casey led his light-traveling companions out of the airport and into a waiting rental car. The Montpellier was an hour trip from Agde. Sarah rode shotgun and Chuck hopped in the back seat.

"So what do we know?" asked Chuck, as Casey pulled onto the A9 that would take them all the way to Agde. The winds were strong right off the Mediterranean, but it felt good as the air was thick with humidity. The thermometer on the dashboard read 26 degrees Celsius, though Chuck wanted to debate that. In the sun it had to be at least 2-3 degrees warmer.

"We know that Jill took an airplane from Seattle to Paris 8 days ago," said Casey.

"We know that her instructions on how to get to Agde were printed in the cookbook in the Seattle airport," said Sarah.

"Which means _she_didn't know where she was going when she arrived at the airport in Seattle, right?" asked Chuck. His question was almost rhetorical, but he was looking for holes in Jill's judgment.

"Possibly," said Sarah. "She might've known she was going to France, but not where, precisely."

"It's hard to believe that all that was in that book was a bunch of instructions on how to get to Agde," said Casey. "Are you sure there was nothing else."

"Well, there was those other numbers," said Chuck. "The 25 - 25 - 25 grouping, near the bottom."

"What about page 100?" asked Casey. "Do you think there was anything on that page?"

"I don't understand how we needed to pour a dye on the page in order to see these messages, but Jill was able to see it all with her naked eye," said Chuck.

"She probably had something in her hand," said Casey. "Invisible ink is usually created to uniquely respond to a solution that is manufactured in conjunction with the ink, whether it be a dye or a light. The dye that we use is probably the most advanced chemical solution in the world and there is very little-_very, very little_-that isn't exposed when this dye is poured on it."

"I'll check page 100," said Sarah. "I can't believe we didn't check it at the airport. What if it gives directions to a completely different location?"

"I doubt it," said Casey, honestly. "Chuck flashed on this city... it's gotta mean something."

Sarah turned around in her seat so she could face Chuck. "What can we expect from Jill?" Chuck sat back and avoided Sarah's gaze. He stared out the window, looking for something to say. "Come on, Chuck. I'm not going to be jealous, or anything."

Chuck glanced at her through the corner of his eyes. "It's not that... it's... oh, come on. The last time we ran into her, she used me like a boy robot! The most I knew about her up to that point was that she dumped me for my ex-best friend. After we lost her at Fulcrum headquarters, she was the skittish Fulcrum agent who manipulated me three times."

"She helped us break into Fulcrum," Sarah reminded him.

"Load of good _that_did," said Chuck. "They'd already moved my dad."

Sarah shrugged. "Do you think she's prepared to kill us?"

"Yes," said Casey.

"What makes you say that?" asked Sarah, looking at him.

"She's been brainwashed," said Casey. "Anyone can tell that."

"What?" asked Chuck. "Like _brainwashed_brainwashed?"

"No, the other kind of brainwashed," said Casey, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "She has that look, you know? The kind that would show up on POWs after we'd intermittently starve them for weeks at a time." He hesitated. "By the time we'd gone through convincing them they were being deceived and that everything they stood for was a lie, they'd have that look, like everything in their life up to that point was a waste, that they shouldn't be allowed to go on living, and that their only allegiance was to us, their captors." He shook his head. "Jill had that look."

"She's a puppet," said Chuck, frowning.

Sarah reached into the backseat and put her hand on Chuck's knee. "Jill chose her own fate," she said, carefully. "At Stanford, with Fulcrum, running away from the CIA...she chose to be this person."

Chuck studied Sarah's expression, and gauged his response. "Does she really deserve what's coming for her, though? She's been used, she's manipulated me and us, but she's never killed anyone. She's never..."

"She betrayed this country, Chuck," said Casey, fiercely, looking at him through the rear view mirror. "This isn't about _us_, this is about our country."

They drove in silence the rest of the way, Chuck trying to compartmentalize what Casey's comment meant to him. How could he choose his country over human life?

It wasn't just a country, he reminded himself, it was a whole bunch of lives. One person chooses to go astray and puts millions of other people in mortal danger because a couple mercenaries feel they've got an unfair lot in life. And if it wasn't _her_ they brought to justice, if it wasn't Jill or Irina or any of the other Pound members, then it was more American lives lost, and possibly his, Sarah's, or Casey's lives.

He certainly wasn't going to let that happen.

What he feared most about this adventure, however, wasn't confronting Jill. He was wary about how that scene might go down, to be sure, but it was nothing in comparison to how he feared the Intersect would behave in the heat of the situation. He hadn't yet taken the Intersect 3.0 out for a test drive, in a manner of speaking, and wasn't sure what skills he'd lost.

When they got out of the car on the outskirts of Agde, abandoning the vehicle just off the Route de Marseillan next to the train tracks that hugged the city, Sarah and Casey both noticed his trepidation.

"What are you worried about, Chuck?" asked Sarah, flat out. "We cannot walk into this if you have something on your mind." Casey heaved their weapons bulk out of the trunk and let it land on the ground with a clatter.

"Did you talk to my dad or Ellie about the changes they made to the Intersect?" Chuck asked.

"Sort of," said Sarah.

"Did they mention anything that I might need to be aware of? Like…how it might react to situations, or things I might not have access to?"

"Like…?" asked Sarah.

Chuck sighed. "Will I be able to flash on weapons? Will I be able to flash on combat skills?"

Sarah's eyes widened, as though she'd never thought of that. She looked back at Casey, who also looked up from his sack. He looked just as unsure as Sarah did.

"Try it," said Casey. "Flash on this baby." He tossed Chuck a long rifle.

Chuck caught it, noticed the M1913 rail, and immediately flashed. Within seconds he saw everything from the monopod socket to the lightweight bolt carrier to the muzzle break. He saw how to hold it, the level at which to aim it, the physics of it's blast, and the expectation of recoil and how to properly guard the body against the kick. Chuck was surprised. It wasn't exactly the same flow of data that he'd grown accustomed to, but it was more specific. Before, the Intersect would give him everything it could in relation to a weapon or a city, and now it gave him just what he was thinking about, as though he had a checklist and the Intersect had just gone through it one-by-one.

He blinked a couple times. "Okay, we're in business!" He looked at the M107 in his hands. "Why do we need sniper rifles?"

"So we can pick off our enemies if we need to," said Casey, without the slightest hesitation. He tossed another rifle to Sarah, then tossed them both trench coats.

"Great," said Chuck, pulling on the coat. "Americans wearing trench coats in the middle of a French-socialist city. We'll attract zero attention."

Casey chuckled. "You'd be surprised." He put the empty bag back into the trunk of their car and they headed back onto the highway, quickly crossed, and cut over into the residential roads.

"All right, Chuck," said Sarah. "Can you flash again on the city, using the information we found on page 100? Tell us where we need to go?"

Chuck nodded, closed his eyes, and thought about Agde, France and Étang de Luno .


	26. The Park

**Chuck vs the Virus**

* * *

So, in reality, the "island" that I'm using in this chapter is entirely a tourist entity…casino, amusement park, hotels, and pretty much all private property. But of course for the purpose of this story I'm changing it up a bit. Just thought I'd throw an exception, if you know what I mean.

This is probably the longest chapter I have ever written. Sorry if you hate the long chapters.

* * *

**Chapter 25: The Park**

The sky was darkening as the small band of CIA agents reached the 7 km mark of what would most likely be an 8 km journey. Wanting to avoid drawing attention to themselves, they chose to travel through back streets and dense trees, both of which were few and far between, but seemed to occur when it really mattered.

For the hundredth time, Casey muttered something about _if they only had a couple more agents_ they'd be able to figure out what was going on in the area much faster. He would scramble ahead of Chuck and Sarah, then circle back and check out their rear, constantly watching for signs that they were being followed.

Chuck had as little clue as the other two about what to expect from this city. A part of him, the skeptical part that didn't quite trust Intersect 3.0, was sure that this expedition was going to be a bust and they'd find no trail of Jill. But a small piece, the instinct that was stirring deep inside him, thought that this would be it, this would be their final showdown.

"Do you know how many things could go wrong?" said Chuck, sweeping the grounds in front of him with his eyes. All the time he kept one hand hovered inside his cloak over his pistol. "There is so much we aren't prepared for in this mission."

"Are you feeling OK, Chuck?" asked Sarah. "You seem edgier than usual."

"What if they have that weapon, again?" said Chuck. The additional ammo draped around his chest was beginning to become overwhelmingly hot. He was sweating through his t-shirt and could feel the steel of the magazines through the nylon strap of his custom-made bandolier. It was burning through to his skin. "What if they're waiting for us? What if they saw us get off the plane? What if there are snipers, or guards, that are closing in on us right now?"

Casey stopped walking and stood up straight. "Hey, did they embed paranoia into that new Intersect?" He walked over to Chuck. "I don't know what has gotten into you, but we trained for this all summer, for the possibility of circumstances to extend beyond what facts have prepared us for. You are not Chuck Bartowski right now, you hear me? You are Agent Carmichael." He jabbed Chuck in the chest with the butt of his gun. It pressed the bandolier harder to his chest and the burning sensation made his skin tingle. He stumbled back a pace or two.

"Casey…" said Sarah, disapprovingly.

"No, Walker," said Casey. "With an attitude like that he's going to get us killed." He pointed at the distant coastline of the Mediterranean. "Do you have any idea where we are, Carmichael? We aren't in cozy little Burbank; we are at the mouth of the devil. If you don't want to enter, then you have to fight like hell to stay out of it."

Chuck nodded, a bit intimidated by Casey's rant. He knew Casey was right, but even that speech couldn't rid him of the haunting feeling that some unknown would seize him.

The trickiest portion of their invasion of the enemy compound was going to be moving through Cap d'Agde, one of the largest leisure ports in all of France. The sun was beginning to set, and up until this point there had been plenty of room to move among the trees and look, generally, like they were simply trying to avoid the blazing hot sun. If anyone did stop and take a closer look, however, they'd see something was off about their small group. Three Americans dressed in trench coats, Chuck feared, could not go unnoticed for much longer. They were half a click away from Rond-point du Bon Accueil, the tourist office located on the Northeast tip of the cape, and it was clear that their coverage was about to leave them.

Beyond the tourist office there was a motorway, and beyond the motorway were the small homes, marketplace, and shops of some three thousand people. The seaport would be full of tourists and blending in was a must.

After walking at a low crouch for the next ten minutes, to hide their heads from the chaotic and uneven hedge along the motorway, Casey held out his hand for them to stop. He ran along the tree line for about fifty feet, until there was a break in the trees, and slithered up the small embankment on his stomach, like a true sniper.

"How are you doing, Chuck?" Sarah whispered. She wiped sweat from her forehead and bent backward, trying to stretch her back.

"I'm good," said Chuck, trying to look nonchalant. "You?"

"Good," she said, giving him her _we'll get out of this soon_ smile. "How's your head?"

"Fine," he said, and this time he meant it. "No pain."

"Are you worried?" she asked.

Chuck looked into her eyes for a moment, thinking absently that he could never be worried as long as he had her eyes to look into. But he was worried, and he didn't know where it was coming from. He'd done this sort of thing countless times. They'd infiltrated so many impossible compounds and gotten past so many unbeatable guards to which they were outnumbered. And yet, here he was, worried about _this_ mission.

"Is it Jill?" Sarah asked, with a knowing cock of her head.

It was Jill. It was Jill and so much of his past that haunted him.

"I think…" he said, thoughtfully, "that whatever happened to me while I was unconscious, the time I spent locked inside the Intersect, I think it dislodged some of the fears I've managed to overcome since…" his voice trailed off.

"Since…?" Sarah egged.

Chuck shrugged. "Since I met you," he said, giving her a half-smile.

Sarah grinned, then leaned up and kissed him. "Chuck," she said, pulling away. "You were always strong, stronger than anyone I'd ever met, but you had some awful friends that really screwed with your head." Chuck began to let his eyes wander away from hers, but Sarah grabbed his arm. "No, listen to me. Jill is a bitch. She is a traitor and a horrible friend. Whatever insecurities that she brings into your life, remember that you are no longer that person, and as long as you continue to think that you are that same person you will never be able to beat her."

Chuck found her eyes again and nodded. "You're right, of course," he said. "I'm not that person anymore."

"No, you are not!" Sarah said enthusiastically. "You are the world's first frickin' _Intersect_ agent. Chuck, you do things without training that Casey and I still can't do _with_ training. You are as prepared for this mission as you have ever been for anything."

"Then why do I feel so…worried?" he asked, his eyes going wide. "I feel like I did at the beginning, when I was a fish, flopping around on dry land. It's paralyzing."

Sarah nodded, her eyes not focused on any one thing but staring off beyond his head. "Jill was a big part of the reason you were stalled after being expelled," she said, softly, "but this is the opportunity to bring her to justice. Let your desire for vengeance overtake that paralyzing feeling. Channel all of those feelings of inadequacy into a determination to find her and bring her in so that she can stand for her crimes. She's done a lot to hurt our country."

Chuck stood up a little straighter. "Yeah. Yeah, I can do that."

"Like Casey said," Sarah said, bumping him on the arm with her shoulder, "you're Agent Carmichael right now, not Chuck."

Casey was coming back to them now. "All right, here's the plan," he said when he got to them. "We're going to need to cut through the heart of the seaport. My best guess is that they will be out on the small island by the amusement park."

"The amusement park?" asked Chuck, crossing his arms.

"Yes," said Casey. "Our limited intel did reveal an abandoned building out there that is used mostly for fishermen's storage. I'd bet that they use that for _something_. We can start there."

"How are we going to get through the residential areas?" asked Sarah.

"This highway leads right to the road that will bring us onto the island," said Casey. "We will walk until we reach that junction and then find a place to lay low until nightfall. I think it's only a kilo to the island, then. Plus, we'll have an opportunity to analyze the people going to the island and see if we can make any Pound affiliates."

The walk to the junction was the most exposed they had been throughout their entire journey. As the tree coverage had left them, they were forced to walk on the sidewalk. To their surprise, however, there were a lot of oddly dressed people waiting for the bus and coming out of the nearby gas station. When they passed a young man, who had tucked his beard into his shirt and had a wooly fur coat pulled tightly around him, they looked at one another, relieved. Still, they tried to act more like experienced tourists than three CIA agents carrying loaded weapons under their cloaks.

There was a large hotel complex with an open courtyard at the corner of the junction. The perimeter of the courtyard was shrouded in trees for privacy. They hopped the waist-high fence and found a place to settle in for the next couple hours.

After some brief conversation, mostly regarding the two or three hours they had until it would be dark enough to venture out again, they decided that it would be useful if one of them walked through the marketplace and tried to get any information out of the locals. They relented that Sarah would be the least suspicious person to be walking around by herself, so she took off her trench coat and the odd-looking belt they'd all been issued to carry additional ammo, unsheathed her guns and gave them to Chuck and Casey, then ventured out into the seaport. Having no means of communication between one another, other than the radio they'd need to signal CIA ops with any information of their infiltration, Casey and Chuck stayed low in the trees and watched the intersection for anyone that could clue them in to where this organization centralized.

Sarah was gone for an hour and a half. When she returned, she appeared behind them very suddenly, as though she'd materialized on the spot. She was wearing a long necklace, made of an ornate, polished wood, and a matching bracelet.

"Went shopping, did we?" asked Casey, smirking.

"I was socializing," she said with a shrug. "In order to get some of the local shop owners to talk I had to…improvise a little." She accepted the trench coat back from Chuck, who eyed her suspiciously. She rolled her eyes. "Do you want me to tell you what I discovered?"

The people of the city seemed to know something unusual was going on around them, but they weren't keen enough to pick up that it was criminal activity. Sarah had approached every shop under the guise of meeting up with an old friend from college and gave Jill's description. She'd gone into more than a dozen stores before anyone seemed to make a connection between the description Sarah was giving and an American who seemed very comfortable in the area.

"The café was called Amnesia," said Sarah. "It's incredibly cramped and serves more alcohol than coffee. But I sat down at the bar and asked for water and hinted that I was waiting for someone. The bartender was learning English so, of course, he wants to converse with me in English, so I tell him about meeting up with Jill, then describe her." She shakes her head. "He starts nodding and talking about her like he knew her, you know? He said that she'd already been here today, really early, and she doesn't usually come more than once a day."

"Was he suspicious?" asked Casey.

"No, I told him that I was surprised to have gotten here so quickly and this was where she told me to meet her," said Sarah.

"But if she comes back, he'll tell her, won't he?" asked Chuck.

Sarah shook her head, grinning. "Chuck, that's not the point! The point is that she _is_ here!"

Chuck's eyes widened, as though he'd just realized the magnitude of her discovery. "We're close," he whispered.

"Anything about the location of their compound?" asked Casey.

"Nothing concrete," said Sarah, "but there weren't many people who could tell me what else was on the island besides the amusement park. Either no one ventured beyond it or they had never been out there. They just repeat the rumor: fishermen from all over the Mediterranean use the island for temporary storage. No one is too interested because, largely, this whole seaport is _just_ tourism and leisure. There are more hotels and small vacation homes than anything permanent, and no one seemed interested in the fisherman. If it was a bigger deal, I'm sure they would've talked or bragged about it."

"Very interesting," said Chuck. "So we know Jill is here, and we know they have been able to keep their whole operation under wraps. How do you suppose they were able to do that?"

"It doesn't seem too difficult," said Casey. "In tourism towns, across the globe, if you don't draw attention to yourself by lording over the city what you're doing, like Wallstreet was doing, you don't cause people to be suspicious. I'm sure that they encourage the fishing rumor quite a bit, and maybe even back it up with some evidence." Casey gritted his teeth. "It's all the worse when the criminals are able to keep such a steady profile that their cover story holds up for this long. How long did the Intersect say they were here?"

Chuck thought. "I can't remember," he said. He closed his eyes and thought about Hérault again. "The earliest documentation of suspicion goes back to 1972, but nothing very severe until about six years ago."

Casey grunted. "Exactly."

"How long should we wait?" asked Sarah.

"I wish we could spot one of them going to the island," said Casey, frowning. "It is reassuring to know that they're out there, but I'd really like to follow them in so that we have an edge."

"How about we keep a lookout for another hour and then go in?" said Chuck. "By that time the park should be closing. Did you happen to see any information about the closing of the park, Sarah?"

She shook her head. "It didn't occur to me."

"Well, let's give it another hour, anyway," said Chuck. "The sun is going down and in no time our trench coats will make sense."

"Plan established," said Casey with a nod to Chuck. "I'm going to move around to the next set of trees around the bend there," he said, pointing just beyond the clearing. "Our visibility will become more limited now that the sun is going down." He eyed them closely. "Will you two please not lose sight of the mission, here? Focus?"

They both glared at him, like he had no right to tell them such a thing. He shrugged, in a way that suggested his comment needed to be said, and began making his way to the next sheltered area.

"I think he hates us," said Chuck, watching Casey leave.

Sarah chuckled. "Don't be ridiculous. You should have seen him…" she said, shaking her head. "After Irina escaped from that building in Chester and it came over the comms, I swear Casey got through a brick wall without bruising a single muscle. When he burst into the room I thought that he was going to knock the whole building down." She shook her head. "He cares about you, Chuck."

"You were conscious in that room?" he asked. "For how long?"

"They woke me up in time to make me watch them inject you with…whatever it was they gave you," she said. She shut her eyes and swallowed hard. "You were awake, which is the odd part. You don't remember that?"

Chuck shook his head. "Not at all."

She watched him for a moment. "You know," she said, "you've been unconscious for a great deal of the time we've been engaged. I don't think many fiancés have to go through that."

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Sorry, babe, but that is one thing I cannot control."

"You could stop getting knocked out, infected with viruses, and getting injected with strange concoctions," she said, grinning.

"I'll work on that," said Chuck, giving her a wide smile. "What do you suppose we'll do when all of this is over?"

Sarah sighed. "The one thing we can say about our job, Chuck, is that there will _always_ be a bad guy. Job security."

Chuck scoffed. "I think I have the market cornered on that one, yep," he said.

They watched the street for the next twenty minutes in near silence. Every once in a while one of them would point at a car and make a comment, only to retract it moments later. Then, after forty minutes had passed, they found the car they'd been waiting for. They were validated in their guess when Casey rejoined them, watching the progress of the car around the roundabout and heading straight for the island.

"No question," said Casey as he approached, noticing their expressions of realization. "Unmarked plates were a dead giveaway. It's got to be Jill."

"Why do you say that?" asked Chuck.

"The organization she's utilizing would be citizens here if they've been here as long as the Intersect thinks it has," said Sarah. "And since they've managed to remain inconspicuous to the locals, they wouldn't have such an obvious automobile. Mostly the locals drive VWs and cars from the 1980s and 90s, it seems, so the actual members probably drive a similar car in order to blend in. That car was a black Volvo, so clean and clear it had to be a rental."

Chuck nodded. "Makes sense. Now what? Do we follow it in?"

"Yes," said Casey. "We've got to cross the very exposed bridge, however, so we have to move as inconspicuously as possible."

"All right," said Chuck. "Lead the way."

They decided to round the hotel, to which the tree coverage they were hiding under belonged, and make as though they were tourists entering the park on foot. They wrapped their coats tightly around them and slung their rifles across their bodies under their coats. Chuck was so uncomfortable at this point that he was able to ignore the burning pain in his chest and waist. He was certain there were burns, in the exact size and shape of the magazines, across his chest, but he couldn't let that get to him now. He glanced at Sarah, the only one on whom the trench coat and concealed weapon did not look natural; mostly, he thought, it was due to her slim figure, but she managed to compensate by holding her coat out from her body, hands dug deep into the pockets. When he looked at her objectively, it was hard to see her making any sort of trouble; at least not the kind that involved heavy firearms.

The walk to the bridge only took five minutes at a fast stroll. The breeze coming off the Mediterranean seaport bay was chilly and dropped the temperature significantly since the direct, hot sun of just hours before. People were still in the water along the beaches of the island, mostly little children refusing to get out and obey their parents. No cars passed them and there were no other people out for a walk. The lights of the amusement park ahead shone brightly against the darkening sky and the scenery was spectacular. The Ferris wheel sent it's soft song across the waters, drawing people toward it, and the sound of the circus and it's entertainment jumped in with a chorus of a variety of animal cries and shouting fans.

When they reached the bridge, it was immediately apparent to Chuck that something was wrong. He looked behind them and saw a black, 1999 Fiat approaching the bridge at an extremely slow pace. He turned back and whispered, "Guys, I think we have trouble."

"We know," said Sarah, nodding ahead of them.

Another older car, much older than the Fiat, was approaching them from the park's exit. In the evening light, Chuck could only tell that it was a Renault, dark gray with large tires that seemed very out of place.

"They've known we were here the whole time," said Sarah. "This is not a coincidence."

"What are we going to do? There are people everywhere," said Chuck, looking around. They kept walking along the bridge, though their pace slowed significantly.

Sarah shook her head. "We're going to have to defend ourselves... If we can't get to Jill quickly, she's going to know we're here and escape to the seas."

"So you don't think that the car we saw just a bit ago was a distraction? Meant to lure us out?" asked Casey, watching the car in front of them with rapt attention. "You think Jill was actually in there?"

Chuck groaned. "I bet that's exactly what happened."

"Are you ready, Chuck?" asked Casey. "Ready to turn that Intersect on?"

"What are you planning?" asked Chuck, he turned so that he faced the Fiat, which was still approaching slowly and not yet showing any signs of hostility.

"If you can fend them off, Sarah and I will jump down and split across the beach to the south and round that way, toward the building. If they try to escape to the sea, we'll be closer and will have a better chance of hedging them off. It's a bit farther than cutting straight through, and I'd guarantee there's more security within the island than around the coast. There'd be fences in our way."

They'd reached the middle of the bridge and both cars were converging on them, they were completely trapped. The noises of children on the beach had died down, as though the adults had seen what was going on and had threw caution to the wind.

"The Intersect is the only thing that can beat these two cars," said Sarah. "And we can't let Jill get away."

"It's a plan," said Chuck. "On the count of three, you both jump into the water, and I'll cover you." He stopped walking.

Sarah grabbed Chuck and pulled him into a kiss. She slipped one of her guns into his jeans, pulled away, looked into his eyes with one lingering gaze, and then said: "Three."

She and Casey jumped over the side of the bridge into the water below. The Fiat and the Renault hurled themselves forward and from both passenger windows, men leaned their entire torsos out and aimed at Chuck with small pistols. Chuck dropped his trench coat, revealing his long rifle, two handguns, and the burning bandolier, and let his mind go. He closed his eyes briefly and let the sound drain out around him. The sound of screeching tires, of screaming from the beaches, of the wildlife, and the sounds from the distant amusement park had all gone.

There was only him, the Intersect, and these two cars.

In the dead silence that he'd achieved, he allowed the Intersect to work quickly. His intuition guided the information and the Intersect gave him what he needed. He felt it surge through him like electricity, pulsating in his blood and giving him the confidence—the assurance—that he knew how to handle the oncoming hoard.

Opening his eyes he quickly pulled the two 44 magnum pistols from his waist band, aimed by casting a quick glance in each direction, braced himself for the kick, and fired three times. Both men lollopped out of the sides of the cars and hung there without moving. He heard loud cracks from the Fiat and wondered if it was the sound of the man's back breaking. It sent deep shivers through him, but he didn't stop there. Chuck aimed both pistols at the drivers' seat of the oncoming Renault and fired another three times, the Renault spun out of control and hit the guard rail, which forced the Fiat to swerve in order to avoid a collision with the skidding Renault. The nose of the Fiat hit the drivers' side of the spinning car and sent it teetering over the edge of the bridge.

Chuck aimed at the Fiat and fired another three times. He took another clip and reloaded one pistol, ducking down below the view of the windows. The eyes of the dead man hanging out of the passenger's seat were wide and bulging. Blood dripped from his forehead and neck. His arms were splayed and his body contorted as it was forced to conform to the movements of the car and to wherever his legs were hooked within the vehicle. As he moved around the car, he couldn't see anyone in either vehicle, and there was no sound coming from either car. The engines idled and spurted reluctantly.

He rounded the Fiat and, trying to stay out of the line of view of the side mirror, ducked his head to look below the car to see if anyone had climbed out.

No one had. He waited, listening for movement. He peered under the car again, looking for feet. From somewhere off in the distance he heard sirens and screams, but he pushed them out of his mind.

He checked under the car again, deciding then if he didn't see anything that he'd move back around in the other direction. The door opened, but no one emerged. Something was dripping out of the car, and Chuck realized it was blood.

Blood.

He tried to push that from his mind, too. He couldn't deal with the idea of taking someone's life.

_But it's my life at stake, here. And Sarah's, and Casey's!_

The driver fell out of the car and thumped to the ground. His hands were empty and his eyes were only partially open. But the man could see him. Chuck checked his surroundings once more and got off his knees, crouching low as he waddled to him. He felt the man's pulse; it was barely beating.

"Where is Jill Roberts?" asked Chuck, his eyes full of regret. He wished he could apologize, or say something to ease this man's pain. "Jill Roberts?" He asked more urgently the second time, shaking the man by his arms.

The man managed to give a single shake of his head. "Je ne les connaissais..." he said. "Jamais..." Chuck shut his eyes and asked the Intersect for help. The translation he got was, "I never knew them… Never."

As he stared at the dying man, Chuck registered the gaping hole in his neck. He had bled out quickly. Chuck searched the man's clothes for something useful; anything that might give him a hint as to where he needed to go next. He found a small Glock 17 in the man's pants and took it. Nothing else of use.

He looked around again before standing up. The sirens were getting closer. He needed to get off the bridge. He peered inside the vehicle. The man who'd leaned out of the passenger's window looked even more contorted from this angle. Chuck circled around the vehicle and took the man's Glock 40, then pushed him back inside. He was bleeding all over the car and the road, and it made Chuck sick to his stomach.

But Chuck pressed on, trying not to internalize the damage of what he'd just done.

_It was me or them_, he said, trying to rationalize it. He looked at his shaking hands. _Me or them..._

He stood up and hurried across the bridge, keeping his eyes alert for enemies. The darkness made this extremely difficult, but there was a great deal of open area up ahead, and he walked toward it. The four men between the two cars couldn't possibly have been all of the guards. If this whole operation was as successful as the Intersect thought it was, there would be more guards coming.

When he made it across the bridge, the noise of the air hit him like a gust of strong wind, like he had just turned on the volume to his life. People were screaming and running around like a chaotic pack of bees. They didn't know where to go or where to hide and as Chuck walked into the park they seemed to freeze at his approach like they had been trapped in time and space, wondering if they were going to be his next victims.

Chuck knew he must look like quite a sight. Four pistols now packed into his pants, the belt barely being of use. He'd have to get rid of a couple here, soon, if he had any hope of keeping his pants on. His Back to the Future t-shirt was completely soaked through in sweat and the rifle still hung around his shoulder, held steady by his right hand.

Through the corner of his eye he saw someone run and duck out of sight, but he couldn't be concerned. He had to concentrate on anyone intending to attack him. He was at a disadvantage, not knowing the layout of the park, but his new bout of confidence didn't count this entirely as a weakness. He would go into the amusement park and put them all at a disadvantage. Chuck thought that if he could lure as many guards away from the building as possible, Casey and Sarah would have a greater chance of finding Jill.

A shot rang out and he ducked, then quickly ran for cover behind a concession cart. The umbrella read, "Lorina!" in front of bright yellow, pink, white, and blue stripes. Another round of shots rang out and the wooden crates next to him burst open, sending shards of wood everywhere, and the glass inside of it exploded. Chuck covered his head with his arms, feeing something lodge into his forearm. He screamed in pain, then got off his ass and onto his knees and crawled away from the cart behind the next building, not made of wood.

Bullets zoomed past the corner where he'd disappeared, ricocheting off the trees. He looked at his forearm. A piece of glass was wedged in, right below the bone near the elbow. Gritting his teeth, he grasped it firmly and pulled it out. It began bleeding horribly and he tried to press it against his pants to stop the flow. It would clot soon, it wasn't terribly deep, but he didn't know how much time he had before the unfriendly fire realized where he'd hidden.

As he kept his arm firmly pressed against his thigh, feeling the warm blood soak deep into his pants, he looked around. The north side of the island was a half-kilometer away; that beach was completely empty. Beach chairs, towels, and random toys laid abandoned in haste. There was no way out that way.

He looked toward the Ferris wheel to the east. There was more probability of finding a place to confront the guards on even ground that direction. He took another look at his arm. It was still bleeding, but the flow was not as extreme as it was before. It would be fine.

Pressing himself firmly to the back of the building, he moved quickly along the back, eastward. A man in tight black clothing had his back to him and was walking quickly away, toward the Ferris wheel. Chuck pulled out the Glock 17 and fired at the man's lower back. The man flew forward, his gun flying out of his hands.

He heard the pitter-pattering of feet moving along the open pavement and when he reached the far edge of the building, he carefully peered around the corner. Two men in the same black clothing as the first, were moving back to back, parallel to the direction Chuck was moving. Without thinking, he raised the Glock and fired at both of them. One dropped to the ground, screaming in pain, the other he'd missed and the man dove into a small grouping of trees. Chuck fired again at the man on the ground and he immediately stopped screaming.

That shot had given away his position, though, and the man that dove out of sight made him. He fired six times in rapid succession and Chuck threw himself across the small gap between the building he was behind and the outer rim of the scrambler, which this amusement park had named L'araignée. He felt a searing pain in his hip and cried out. Pain like he couldn't believe coursed through his body, electrifying his nerves and causing his muscles to tense up. He buried his mouth in his elbow and let out a low sob, wanting to bit his own arm to distract himself from the unbearable sting in his hip.

There was a brief pause of gunfire, which Chuck took advantage of and crawled on his stomach around the barrier to the, before shots rang out again. They were significantly far behind him, though, making him sure that he was clothed well by the darkness. He laid motionless on the ground, willing himself to forget the pain and keep moving.

Slowly, he turned himself into a kneeling position, setting most of his weight on his right hip and trying, with little success, to relax his left leg. He pulled out the Glock 40 and peeked over the fence, aimed to where the man had dove into the bush and fired four times. The fifth time he pulled the trigger he had an empty cartridge. He tossed the gun behind him and pulled out his own 44, checked the magazine. It was empty. He quickly reloaded.

But it wasn't quick enough.

Two shots. One grazed his left shoulder and he felt a burn like hot iron enter in and seep down his back like water into every muscle and fiber. He fell forward and screamed in pain. His hands shook violently as he pushed through, managing somehow to get the new mag into the magnum. He spun around onto his back, gun raised, and stared up into the face of his attacker. The man that stood over him was a giant. Beefy and hairy, his beard hung like sheet of matted hemp from his face. He was missing teeth and had blood trickling down from somewhere on his face.

Apparently the man was without a gun, because he reached down to grab Chuck. Chuck gave one loud yell and fired twice into the man's chest, then used his left arm and right leg to move himself clumsily out of the way as the giant fell to his knees, and then hard to his face. Something cracked loud and Chuck wondered how many bones in the man's face had broken.

Every inch of him shook with terrible shudders. His hands trembled from the pain in his shoulder and he could not grasp his pistol. He was quite certain he'd lost all the feeling in his left leg; his foot kept twitching involuntarily, and it sent shockwaves of piercing pain up into his hip where he was sure a bullet was lodged. He tucked the magnum back into his pants and took up his rifle instead. Though every inch of him was screaming to stop and not move and wait to be resuced, the rifle steadied him more and he panned his eyes around the open grounds, searching for more guards.

He couldn't see anything. His eyes were fuzzy and his head was beginning to ring. He could literally hear bells, and feel them reverberate throughout his body. He slunk back against the fence of the scrambler, breathing deeply. He felt his breaths increase rapidly and closed his eyes.

Not all that long ago, the Intersect had healed him of very severe wounds. He wondered if that functionality had been taken away now that his dad had reformatted the Intersect. He wasn't about to rely on that to save him now. He had to be resourceful. He needed to compartmentalize the pain, push past whatever he could, so that they could finish their job here. He had no life threatening injuries, and the blood would clot around the bullet wound in his hip soon.

Slapping his hand on the ground in frustration, he opened his eyes to see something that nearly took his mind off of everything. Four people were hidden in a bush, not fifty feet from where he sat. A father, mother, and two young girls. The father had his arms wrapped around all of his girls, the mother had her face buried between the two young girls, her hands pressed tightly over each of their ears. The man looked at Chuck with a terror Chuck had never seen before.

Chuck swallowed hard, but held the man's gaze despite the darkness of the night. The Ferris wheel cast just enough light for Chuck to see his expression and to know the horror the family had just witnessed. His heart wrenched in pain and he doubled over, vomiting all over the pavement. He heaved again, feeling the dryness of his throat produce nothing but hot, stinging bile.

He didn't know what he should do about the man, or if he should do anything at all. He could not continue to sit there and hold his gaze. He had to move, he had to keep going. But the man didn't break the stare either, and after a couple seconds, or perhaps minutes, the tension in the man's face eased, like he could see who Chuck was, or could see his purpose. Chuck felt his breath return to him and inhaled deeply. With a last look, trying to force as much apology into it as possible, Chuck got to his feet and looked around.

He moved out into the open, trying to count in his head how many he'd taken down. Four. Five. Six, seven…eight? Seven or eight? There had to be more than eight, didn't there? Particularly if they knew they were coming.

Distant sounds of gunfire raged from somewhere else and Chuck got to his feet, looking around. Sirens rang so close, Chuck was sure he didn't have much time to get out of the area without being arrested—or worse, having to injure any of the police. He kept his rifle raised and moved around the clearing. There was no sound, no movement.

More gunfire in the distance, though closer than last time.

He strained his ears, searching for the sounds of motors, rustling footsteps, the _shink!_ of a magazine being slid into place. Nothing. He moved so slowly and so carefully he wasn't breathing. Every couple moments he realized this and took a couple deep breaths, before forgetting to breathe again.

Then he heard it. Footsteps pounding the pavement close by. He turned left and right, but he couldn't see anything. The sun was completely gone and the Ferris wheel did not feel like casting enough glow in the location he'd chosen. He began to move closer to the light. He needed to be able to see.

"Chuck!" a voice called.

He whipped around. That wasn't Sarah, but it was a woman. Her voice was odd, but he could have recognized Jill's tone anywhere.

"Jill…" he shouted back. "Where are you?"

"There is a lot you don't understand, Chuck," she shouted. "You wouldn't be doing this if you knew the whole story."

"I know plenty," said Chuck. "I think I know more than you do."

"I doubt that," she said. Her voice had changed locations quickly and he adjusted himself so that he was aiming in the direction her voice was coming from. "You've done a lot for me over the years, Chuck. I'd prefer it if you'd just get out of here and I don't have to kill you myself."

"If you kill me without looking me dead in the eye, I swear I will haunt you forever," said Chuck, feeling a new anger surge through him. Jill gave a derisive laugh. Her voice continuing to move around him, engulfing him; or herding him, perhaps. Then she didn't say anything for a full minute.

"Are you going to explain yourself?" asked Chuck, calling out into the night.

"Isn't that the mark of the defeated?" asked Jill, her voice closer, but still completely hidden by some barrier. "To reveal all in the final moments?" She scoffed, and Chuck could hear her feet shuffling along the ground. He latched onto them, closed his eyes, and imagined her movement around him. "I am not finished with my mission. You've taken out many of my men, but there are plenty more where they came from. And unless you leave _now_, I will send them after you."

"Why did you come out here?" Chuck asked. "Why didn't you just run away?"

"Because…" she said, like it was the most obvious answer. "Because you're Chuck."

"That's not an answer," he said, still following her footsteps in his mind, trying to map a location for her in relation to where he stood.

"You're all that kept me alive during my captivity, you know," said Jill, her voice softer, but still projecting. "After you sent me off with that ring…" She chuckled. "But, damn, Chuck. You have an _Intersect_. How could I have been so stupid?" Chuck felt certain he knew where she was, now, but he didn't want to move. He wanted to hear anything and everything she was willing to divulge.

"I didn't tell anyone, Jill, not just you," he said, honestly. "Besides, if you want to start with the old, 'You-should-have-told-me,' bit, then I think you'd probably lose."

She giggled. "Yes, you're probably right. My affiliation to people…and my country had already been long nullified." When she spoke again, he could almost hear her frowning. "America cannot house the ambitions of the people I work for now, Chuck. It isn't about gaining power or control, it's about making a difference in the way people view power and control. It's about world order and broad organizations that negotiate for the common denominator."

"That isn't a model for a functional society," said Chuck, disdainfully. "You of all people should know that. How does that make sense to you scientifically?"

"None of that matters anymore," she said, brushing off his question. "Now it's about fulfillment, and doing the things that need to be done."

Chuck shook his head and lowered his rifle. "That is the saddest thing I've ever heard. Wasn't it Gandhi who said, 'No culture can live if it attempts to be exclusive.'? It has never worked, throughout all of history. What makes you think it can work now?"

Jill didn't answer.

"Jill?"

He couldn't hear footsteps. If she'd moved, then he'd completely lost her.

Then there was movement in front of him and he raised his rifle. But to his surprise, Sarah stepped out of the bushes. She pressed a finger to her mouth and crept closer to him.

"Jill? Why aren't you answering me?" asked Chuck again.

"Because you will never understand," she said. Her voice came from somewhere to their right. He heard a click, like the cock of a gun.

Sarah raised her own gun and aimed to where Jill's voice had been, but she emerged behind Chuck, gun aimed at his head, and Sarah adjusted, firing three times over Chuck's shoulder. After the last shot, Chuck doubled over, holding his hand to his ear. The sound had been excruciating. Sarah raced to him and pulled him into a hug. He wrapped his good arm around her and turned his body, gritting his teeth through the pain, to look at Jill. She lay there on the ground, arms spread out, facing away from them, gun barely touching her finger tips. Blood spots across her chest and stomach began to spread on her clothing.

"You're alive…" said Chuck, closing his eyes and squeezing Sarah to him. He pressed his cheek to her head and felt his eyes burn. He breathed in deeply and caught her scent. He kissed her hair and buried his nose in the dirty, coarse strands. It felt as though she had sand dumped on her head, but he didn't care, he just wanted to feel her heart beat and know she was still here with him.

"And so are you," she said. He felt wetness under her face against his non-injured shoulder, and he re-gripped, holding her even more tightly.

For reasons Chuck couldn't quite explain, he chose then to open his eyes. It took a moment to adjust to the darkness, but he saw that Jill was getting to her feet, slowly, but just as assuredly standing with her gun. He pulled away from Sarah, swung his rifle up, and pulled the trigger. The last shot rang out, like a long, earsplitting song, and hit Jill, square in the forehead.

The derangement, the deceit, and every ounce of humiliating betrayal died. The small, petite body of Jill Roberts crumbled to the ground in a pathetic heap, a small, and perhaps pointless, resolution to the magnitude of damage that she'd left in her wake.

And as the police came, as his weapons and ammo were stripped from his body, as his wrists were tightly wrapped in cuffs, and his damaged body handled with less than careful hands, Chuck let it all sweep over him. The headache was a clamor of symbols. Every word spoken was a dagger and every shove sent pain shooting through his nerves and accentuating the bullets that had wounded him.

Sarah was handcuffed next to him in the much newer _police nationale _Renault. They were being escorted back to Montpellier, where, Chuck had just briefly overheard, they'd be transported in a high security aircraft to Paris.

"Chuck?" asked Sarah.

"Shut up," said the officer in the passenger's seat. "No talking."

"Can't you see he's injured?" Sarah asked, indignantly. "He's losing consciousness because he's lost too much blood."

"We are not in zee habit of mending terrorists," said the officer. "Now, shut up."

* * *

Chuck regained consciousness as they prodded him awake. It was still the dead of night, but the bright lights of Montpellier were blinding. They tugged Chuck out of the car and half dragged, half pulled him toward the small military aircraft that was supposed to take them to France. He cried out in pain, feeling his entire left leg go positively numb again.

They threw him down against the wall of the plane. Sarah sat down next to him, and Casey on his other side. They propped him between them.

"Chuck, stay with us," said Casey. "Force yourself to stay awake."

Primarily from pain, but also greatly from exhaustion and grief, Chuck was unable to stay conscious for much, or most, of the flight to Paris. When they landed, he was vaguely aware of the police trying to get him to stand on his feet, but he was unable to. The pain in his shins, hip, and shoulder was so great that he couldn't walk, or even focus his eyes on any one thing. Casey caught him best he could, letting Chuck's body lean against his own as his arms were still handcuffed behind his back.

"If you let me out of these cuffs I will carry him," Casey said, urgently. "Can't you see he can't walk?"

The policemen barely had to glance at Casey before deciding that removing the cuffs of this man would not serve them to their advantage. Though Casey looked weary, he was undoubtedly a soldier who could handle himself beyond the training they'd been given. One of the policemen snapped his fingers and spoke in rapid French, which neither Casey nor Sarah were able to understand very well. Sarah thought she heard the word for medic, and it was somewhat verified when a collapsible gurney was being pushed quickly across the open tarmac at a run by two medics.

"Put him on ze gurney," said the policeman, nodding at Chuck.

The two medics dragged Chuck to the gurney, with little respect for his well-being. "He is badly injured, we need to give him medical attention," said one medic. He sounded American.

"We cannot. Zees people are terrorists," said the policeman, gruffly.

The other medic was eyeing Sarah and Casey curiously. "They are all wounded. Please just let us remove the bullets and put on bandages before you take them into custody."

The policeman was outraged. He threw up his hands and began ranting in French. He walked away from them, toward the military airbase.

"He says to make it quick," said the first medic, winking at Sarah. "Follow us."

"Who are you?" asked Sarah, as she and Casey jogged along behind them.

"CIA," said the second medic. "Agent Jones. This here is Agent Williams. We'll be escorting you back to the United States."

Casey chuckled cynically. "The French consulate is not going to like that."

Agent Jones grinned. "After they've been briefed on the massive terrorist attack the CIA squashed, they will probably release anyone to us we ask for. But we don't have time to send you through the ringer just now. Agent Bartowski needs medical attention and so do you two. We'll get you on the American fighter heading back to Texas and from there we'll bring you to Langley."

"Langley?" said Casey, surprised.

"So they found the base in Russia?" asked Sarah, excitedly.

Agent Williams nodded. "We'll tell you all once we've got the Intersect back up and running."

Casey and Sarah exchanged wide-eyed glances. "The Intersect?" said Sarah, astounded. She waited to see whether Williams would hint at what he knew.

Williams nodded. "The Intersect isn't a classified topic anymore. The CIA and NSA released a joint statement today to all level 3 personnel and above describing the Intersect project and the new relationship that the CIA is developing with the military branches and U.N. Incredible stuff. Unbelievable, really."

"You're kidding," said Casey, looking dumbfounded. "Without even telling us?" he was looking at Sarah. "Without telling Chuck?"

Sarah shook her head. "I don't know about this," she said. They had entered the medic office.

"Williams will take care of Chuck," said Jones. "I'll look to your wounds. Where are you hurt?" He uncuffed both Sarah and Casey, both massaged their wrists and stretched their arms. After more than six hours of being cuffed, the mobility felt like the discovery of arms.

"We were both only grazed," said Sarah. She took off her coat, revealing three red, and slightly deep, bullet tracks on her back.

Jones whistled. "Woman, this was too close." He touched them and she winced. "Yeah, these are already getting infected. I think I see specs of sand in there." He sat them both down on the hospital beds and moved quickly. "I don't have time to do much here. We'll do most of this on the plane, but we can't move until Chuck is ready."

"How did you know we'd come here?" asked Sarah.

"It's been seven hours since you were arrested in Agde," said Jones. He said nothing more, like that was all the explanation either of them needed.

Agent Williams poked his head out of a nearby room. "Can I get a hand in here?"

Sarah hopped off the bed. "Hey, Agent Walker, I need to treat your wounds," said Agent Jones. Sarah waved him off and hurried into the room where Williams was.

"What's the problem?" she asked.

"He's waking up," said Williams. "I just need you to steady him while I remove the bullet from his hip."

Sarah crouched down by Chuck's face and looked into his eyes. "Hey, baby, we're safe. We're going home now." She laid her hand on his cheek and held his gaze. "Just hold on and stay really still."

Chuck stared back into her eyes. His were filled with a look that she hadn't seen before, something imprecise. He held her gaze though, his breathing returning to a quick in-and-out.

"We made it," he said, hoarsely.

Sarah smiled and felt a tear roll down her cheek. "Yeah, baby, we made it." She inhaled deeply and wiped her eyes, not entirely sure why she was crying, but she was filled with relief and when combined with complete exhaustion, she was overwhelmed. "We more than made it. Sounds like the mission in Russia was a success too."

Chuck tried to smile. His face was half squashed by the table, and half too tired to move.

"I got it out," said Williams. There was a _ting_as the bullet dropped into a metal tin. "Damn, I can't believe that didn't shatter your bone. Huh. Well, now I'll just stitch you up and we'll head to the jet."

"Won't the French police come looking for us?" asked Sarah.

Williams shook his head as he drew out the thread and threaded the needle. "Technically the police were supposed to hand you off to the Sargent in command on this base, and he's already in league with the U.N. and aware of the situation in Russia. You would have been put directly on the jet if the medics hadn't been called. But we sent word and they're holding it for you."

"Casey?" asked Chuck.

"He's in the other room," she said. "He's fine. We're both fine."

Williams snorted.

"What?" she asked.

"Your back doesn't look fine," he said, shrugging.

"I meant that we're alive, obviously," said Sarah. She stood up. "Thanks for stitching him up."

Williams nodded. "It's my job, agent."

"Well, I still appreciate it," she said.

"You two married?" he asked, eyeing her ring.

She hadn't taken it off, even in spite the chaos of the chase from hours ago. All the way to France she had debated taking it off and putting it somewhere safe, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it. If she lost it, well, they'd just have to get a new one. She didn't like the thought of that, though. She loved this ring and it was perfect for her, because it was Chuck who had chosen it.

"Engaged," she said.

"Congratulations," he said, grinning. "Agent Bartowski is a very lucky man."

Sarah smiled and looked back down at Chuck, who wore a goofy, broad grin, his eyes shut lazily. "No, Agent Williams, _I_ am a very lucky girl."


	27. Every Piece of You

**Chuck vs. the Virus**

* * *

Thank you all who stuck with me until the end! I think this was my favorite fic to write thus far and I appreciate that you let me explore some different avenues of the Intersect. This is the final chapter! One last hurrah :)

* * *

**Chapter 26: Every Piece of You**  
Chuck was alone in the office. He wore a clean suit and tie; so clean, in fact, that he could feel the creases in his pants. He pulled nervously on his cuffs as he waited, absentmindedly flattening out the surfaces of his clothing. He'd been waiting for nearly ten minutes.

He wasn't nervous in the sense that he knew he was going to pay for some rule he'd broken. It was just that the longer he waited the more his mind raced with the possibilities of why he was sitting in the office, and what, exactly, it was that General Beckman had to tell him.

He rubbed his shoulder, which was only slightly sore to the touch. His muscles were still aching all down his left side, where he'd taken a bullet to his hip, and he walked with such an acute limp, his sister had recommended he use a cane. Ellie said that he'd severely damaged his _tensor fasciae latae_muscle, and the recovery would be long and irritating.

_Great_, he'd said. _I'll be able to remember that night for a long time, then. I didn't want to forget about it too quickly._

Barely three days had passed since that dreadful day in France. He hadn't spoken much to anyone besides Sarah and Ellie. While they were holed up in a hotel in Bethesda, waiting for a word from General Beckman, he'd slept, eaten, taken loads of pain killers, then fallen asleep again.

As he sat in the soft sunlight of the twelfth floor office, he gave in to the spinning sensation and closed his eyes, letting his mind, reluctantly, drift back over the last several days. Ellie and Devon had flown in several hours before Sarah, Chuck, and Casey arrived in D.C. and were ready to assess the damage that had been done to the team.

The French _Armée de l'Air_was very good to them on the flight into Texas and had given Casey what they called a sky-stitching. A bullet had grazed his torso and taken out a nice chuck of skin. Chuck was able to stay awake throughout the whole trip after taking some medication for the pain, and they'd told the soldiers about their experience in the small French city. And the soldiers, in turn, told them of all the press coverage about the supposed terrorist attack and the aftermath of interviews of witnesses.

Most anxiously, however, Chuck stayed awake for the story about the CIA invasion of Ust'ilimsk.

"Manifiques," said one officer, in anticipation of what was about to be said.

Agent Williams told the story.

_"The official story is pretty uneventful. The CIA moved into the Ust'ilimsk, at your intel I assume," he said, nodding at Chuck, He was shouting above the noise of the VIP transport aircraft engine. The seats where the passengers were strapped, now that everyone had been properly mended and were alert and ready for the story, was not in a location that was prime for story telling. Chuck thought this was best, however. He already didn't like Agent Williams too much._

_"…and found that the entire city operated under the jurisdiction of essentially four high-level Pound leaders, who are actually quite prominent Russian businessmen."_

_Agent Jones snorted at this and shook his head. Williams nodded at him. "It always seems to be the powerful men with too much money who start these terrorist cells," said Agent Jones, with a shake of his head._

_"Anyway, the CIA were attacked in the air when they arrived, which drew them right to their base," said Williams. "They dropped a couple bombs, sent in tactical teams, and took out seven people alive, ten people dead."_

_"Pity," said a French officer. "Scum."_

_Agent Williams nodded. Then he looked at Chuck, holding his gaze with a firm grin that didn't exactly express happiness, but more like a satisfaction. "I was told to tell you that Irina Kopp was among the living they extracted from their headquarters. I assume that name means something to you."_

_Sarah gasped and clamped a hand over her mouth. She reached over and touched Chuck's knee. Their eyes met and a look passed between them, some combination of disbelief and relief. The events of the past few weeks culminating in an absolute end that neither could have anticipated._

_Agent Williams stretched out his arms and legs, trying to relax beneath the straps of the Falcon 50's passenger seats. "Yeah, well, the CIA isn't sure right now whether they've gutted the organization or just taken out a branch. But with the seven hostages, we are hopeful that it will lead to a great deal of insight into the world of weapons dealings throughout Siberia and Europe."_

There was a loud _thunk_of a door slamming from somewhere outside the office Chuck sat in. His eyes shot open and he sat up straight, looking around like he'd just been caught doing something naughty. He smacked his lips together and slapped his cheeks, willing himself awake. He looked at the clock on the wall. Another ten minutes had passed.

Why was General Beckman taking so long?

His mind drifted quickly, again. He hadn't allowed himself such a free reign of his thoughts since the flight _to_France, really since Casey had told him he needed to stop being Chuck and start being Carmichael. So he took the opportunity to reflect on the whole of the last several weeks. He thought back to the first plane ride over to Russia, when he confronted Irina for the first time and she'd tried to seduce him. He thought about the virus that had torn him apart, inside and out, and caused the Intersect to treat him very strangely. He thought about telling Ellie the truth about the last three years, and finding his dad in Nowheresville, Montana. He thought about searching the town for Irina and Jill…

…and then his memories stopped. Then all that existed to him was France.

If he was honest with himself, and he doubted it was much of a secret to Sarah, though he'd never said it aloud, what really kept his manner so subdued was the fact that he'd killed nine people. His brain had no problem dealing with it. He knew that he was doing his job and was acting in self-defense. If he hadn't killed them, they'd have killed him and then gone on to kill Sarah and Casey.

And that thought alone made his conscience shut up about the snuffing out of life. It was an odd concept, and one that he wasn't sure he'd ever get used to.

The door behind him opened and General Beckman marched in. "Agent Bartowski, I apologize sincerely for the time I've kept you waiting," she said, walking briskly to her tall chair and sitting down. "There is so much that we're taking care of right now, particularly between the countries affected in this whole affair. It's a mess, to say the least."

Chuck sat up straighter and peered at her. "General Beckman, ma'am, I'd just like to know why I'm here," he said.

General Beckman frowned, which to Chuck meant that she was concentrating. "I'm sure Agent Williams and Agent Jones revealed that the Intersect project is no longer classified at the highest level. We've opened the doors to the U.N., the Presidency's security council, and all branches of the military, that we have an active Intersect agent."

Chuck nodded. "Yeah, they did tell us as much."

General Beckman didn't say anything for several moments. "Well?"

Clearing his throat, Chuck glanced nervously toward the window, then back at her. "Well…what?"

"I assume you have some sort of reaction to this news?" said General Beckman, her brow furrowing even further toward her nose. "Agent Walker and Colonel Casey have already talked my ears off, I would assume you'd have the same reaction?"

Chuck thought about it for several moments. He watched the sunlight reflected in the crystals on Beckman's desk. He didn't know whether his feelings about the big reveal where adept yet enough to encompass the whole picture, because the implications had not yet been described to him, but overall he didn't feel very strongly one way or another.

He tried to smile. "Well, General, you know how hard it is for me to keep secrets, so..." he shrugged. "I know that a lot of adjustments will need to be made, whether or not people know about the Intersect project. I think I'd prefer to move forward with more people knowing and the full weight of the United States behind me, united with me, than just go it alone." _Too many secrets_.

For a moment, General Beckman looked like his comment had taken her completely off guard. She looked pleased and her brow arched. It made her look younger and easier, as she must have done before gaining her current position.

She nodded. "Colonel Casey expressed his concern about moving forward with these plans before you left for France, but after conversing with the U.N. security council chairman, it was clear the only way to have the full support of every country was to be transparent to the people that counted." She shook her head, resigned. "You have been through a great deal these past couple weeks, Bartowski, and I do not wish to downplay that, so please take what I am about to say with a great deal of pride."

She waited until Chuck nodded before continuing.

"You are a vital launching pad into a division of Intersect agents," she said, starting off slowly. "It was never our intention to have just _one_ that operated alone, but several, joined together to combat the unknown enemy. Now, it wasn't your _choice_, per say, to have this job and yet you have excelled beyond what any of us could have expected from an untrained civilian. None of use are naive enough to think that just anyone could have downloaded the Intersect and turned out as well as you." She took a deep breath and straightened up. "Nonetheless, from the reports distributed by your father and sister, it is apparent that the Intersect that currently resides in your head _cannot_be removed."

"What?" said Chuck, leaning forward, unable to mask the edge to his voice.

Beckman nodded, trying best she could to remain impassive. "Your father will be able to explain in greater detail, of course, but as he has been working on the Intersect project longer that you've been alive, I cannot believe he is much mistaken about this. As far as medicine and technology have advanced, the degree of integration the Intersect has assumed within your brain would make it _unwise_for it to be removed."

Chuck sat back, his mind reeling. _The Intersect can't be removed?_

"Agent Bartowski?" said Beckman, wrenching him back to the present. "Chuck!"

"Sorry, General..." said Chuck, absently.

"In any case, since it cannot be removed we are left with two options," she said. Now she began to look uneasy and folded her hands in front of her on the desk. "We have built an entire operation in Burbank to assist you and your team in the missions you are assigned. Option one is that you continue to work for the joint CIA-NSA task force as we partner with the U.N. Nothing would change, other than an additional department to report to, and, most likely, frequent meetings with the Security Council and the delegates from other countries who currently sit on it." She took a deep breath. "Or, and this comes with a great element of hesitation on my part, but, option two is...the CIA and NSA are willing to offer you a deal. If you spend the next two years here in D.C. helping to finalize a copy of the Intersect and train in new agents, we will give you a modest salary and a job with the government wherever you want in the world."

Chuck's eyes widened. "Anywhere in the world?"

Beckman gave him a single nod. "Essentially, yes. With the news that you're an Intersect agent, we cannot sign off on any sort of finite resignation from the government. Unless your father discovers a means to remove the Intersect from your head, you are too valuable of an asset to let you wander freely without protection." She cleared her throat and watched him, trying to assess him. "What I am about to tell you _now_is not meant to frighten you into submission, Agent Bartowski, it is meant to reveal to you the gravity of the situation we're now in. It was unavoidable in the long run, of course..."

"Please," said Chuck, hoarsely. "Just tell me."

"You are currently ranked in the top five of the list we call At Risk of Assassination," she said, very evenly. "I, myself, and my superiors agree that as the weeks go by, this will not always be the case. You can, however, imagine why you are on this list?"

Chuck nodded, swallowing hard. He felt his cheeks go numb, and then his ears. A ringing, like a persistent mosquito, thundered through his head.

"And you can understand our reluctance to allow you to sever your ties with the CIA?" she asked.

"Yes, I understand," said Chuck.

Beckman nodded. "That is the choice you have to make, then, Bartowski. Do you want to continue as you have been for the last two and a half years as a field agent, or do you want to work your way toward a different life?"

* * *

Sarah met him in the main lobby. She was sitting on a bench, hands buried deep in her coat pockets, and looking around the room as though she couldn't bring herself to do anything else. When she saw him moving slowly and hobbling toward her, she jumped to her feet and hurried to him.

"How'd it go?" she asked, slinking her arm around his waist and allowing him to rest an arm around her shoulder in further support. "You were in there a very long time." She couldn't help noticing the amount of stares they were getting. She thought, first, that it might be due to Chuck's cane. But people were injured all the time, especially in their line of work, and it didn't entirely make sense the way people were whispering behind their hands and staring openly at them. When she saw a man nudge his friend and nod in their direction, she thought she knew what was going on.

They knew who Chuck was.

Chuck grinned down at her, oblivious to the attention he was getting. "Most of it was just waiting for her. I probably waited a half-hour before she came in."

"Did she tell you what I said?" she asked, looking around again at the people watching them progress toward the front door.

"No, just that you and Casey tore her a new one," said Chuck. "Apparently Casey thought I already knew?"

"He thought you knew about the meeting she had prior to leaving," said Sarah. "He thought we both knew. He _didn't_know that they were planning to make the Intersect project known throughout the CIA."

She reached for the door handle, but someone slid in to grab it first, someone she didn't know. "I'll get that for you Agent Walker," he said, grinning broadly. "Agent Bartowski, how you feeling?"

Chuck raised his eyebrow at the man he'd never met, but who seemed to know his name anyway. "Um, great..." he said, giving the guy a half smile. "Thanks."

"Anytime," said the mystery man. "Have a great day, you two."

"Who was that?" asked Chuck as they stepped out onto the sidewalk surrounding the NSA building.

"No idea," said Sarah, hoping Chuck wouldn't pursue the thought. Not yet, anyway.

But Chuck seemed to have lost his train of thought. He stared around at the massive parking lot, deep in thought. "Are Devon and Ellie meeting us back at the hotel?"

"Yes," said Sarah. "We've got about a 45 minute trip back." She glanced at her watch. "Make that a 2 hour trip back," she said with a sigh. "D.C. rush hour."

Chuck shrugged. "Let's stay off the highways…take our time. Do we have anything but time now?"

"All right, oh great and wise one," she said, smirking. "How do you keep all those thoughts inside your head without any hair?"

Chuck rubbed his head. "I got a pretty full noggin, you know. I think it may even work like a genie lamp. Go on, rub my head and then ask me anything," he said, bating her with a smile. He ducked his head so that she could reach it, but she did not touch it.

Sarah rolled her eyes and chuckled, choosing not to respond to him. "Would you like me to bring the car around, or do you want to walk?"

"I can walk," he said, moving forward. "Physical therapy, you know."

Sarah tsked disapprovingly. "Ellie told you to stay off it as much as you could," she said.

Chuck scoffed. "Would you stay off it if you were me? If you really thought I shouldn't walk on it you'd have gone to get the car without asking me if I wanted to walk."

Sarah smirked. "True. Well, we're not far."

She helped him in the car, a CIA issued vehicle, and they sped off.

"So, are you going to tell me anything about the meeting?" she asked. She'd waited to speak until they'd crossed over 95 and began south on Columbia Pike. The GPS did not like what the driver was doing and was constantly recalculating. Sarah wanted to punch it.

Chuck was staring out the window, leaning into the sunlight. Sarah reached over and took his hand, and then he looked over at her.

"It's a lot to process, you know?" he said. He spoke slowly. "This whole system: the CIA, the NSA, the United Nations… For so long it was unreal to me and I lived a life I just desperately wanted to get out of so that I could forget how pathetic I was. Everything I did from day to day, with you and Casey, made me so aware of how pointless my life was and it was embarrassing to make you see that."

"Chuck, you can't honestly think…" Sarah started, but Chuck cut her off.

"Look, it's not like anything you say right now is going to change the way I felt at the time. So much has changed, for the better of course, but still. I _used_ to access the CIA at such an arm's length, everything I did for them was through you and Casey. And now they're right on top of us. Yet, I don't feel smothered, and I don't feel like they've taken advantage of me… I just feel _tired_."

He leaned his head against the window and gazed out of the front windshield.

"The spy life was never meant for people like you," said Sarah, warmly. "You care about people, about _individuals_, in a way that I've never witnessed before. It's like you look at a person and see all of their unique qualities, no matter who they are or what they've done. Spies, like I once was, we don't look at a person, we look at _people_, and that is how we deal. By thinking about the masses."

Chuck sighed. "Are you saying—"

"No," said Sarah. "I am not saying you should stop caring about people. Never, _ever_, stop caring about people, Charles Bartowski." She let go of his hand to put to hands on the steering wheel as they approached a curve in the road. "But I'm thinking there's going to have to be a change in the style of life we live from here on out."

He looked at her again. "You know, it's funny you say that…"

She frowned. "Why's that?"

"Beckman sort of gave me a choice," he said. He sat up straight and leaned his head against the headrest. "And my two choices stem from the same root cause."

"Go on…" she said, impatiently.

He heaved a great sigh and then looked at her. His eyes were full of a burden, weighed from knowledge of all the things that had happened to him and a dreadful anticipation of all that was to come, beyond what he had been imagining, that had been quickly and unwittingly laid on him. There was a singularity in his gaze that separated him from her in a way she'd never felt before. It might've been a barrier, or a guard rail, or it could have been the Pacific Ocean. But the look on Chuck's face made her pull off the pike and stop the car on a dirt road just over the Rocky Gorge Reservoir.

"Please, Chuck, just say what's going on in your head," she said. "I'm trying not to make you say anything until you're ready, but this is so unlike you. Generally I can't get you to shut up about things."

Chuck smiled. "I know. I just feel, um, guilty, I think."

"Guilty?" she asked, now becoming even more confused.

"General Beckman told me that my dad and sister do not think they can remove the Intersect from my head without causing me serious damage," he said, quickly. "She also said that I am in the top five people of most likely to be assassinated."

Sarah's voice went so high in shock and indignation that Chuck literally covered his ears. She started the engine back up and threw the car into gear.

"Couldn't have told me that before we got into the car?" she said, furious. She slammed on the gas and hurtled back onto the road, passing and weaving between the very light traffic.

Chuck grasped the dashboard with both hands. "We're being followed," he said, "I'll probably have a personal security detail for the rest of my life!"

Sarah looked into the rearview mirror and, like she hadn't properly looked before, she now noticed the CIA car in her sights, hardly bothering to tail them discretely. She felt her face flush, though she wasn't entirely sure why.

"You can slow down now," said Chuck still holding the dashboard with one hand.

Sarah eased off the gas and brought the speed down to just above the legal limit.

"Do you want me to continue?" Chuck asked, still sounding a little frightened by her sudden outburst.

"Yes!" she said, gruffly. She wasn't mad at him, but she was frustrated. Why was she frustrated? Because General Beckman hadn't bothered to tell her about Chuck's Hit List status. Because Chuck was acting so calm about it. Because she was still only the _fiancé_and didn't legally have a right to know anything.

Chuck gulped. "Sarah, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you… I just kinda thought you already knew." She didn't look at him, she needed to keep her eyes on the road so that her anger wouldn't throw her off. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, Chuck," she said, taking a couple deep breaths to calm herself. "It's not your fault, I don't blame you. Don't apologize. Please tell me whatever else is left."

"Beckman gave me two options," he said. "Either I can continue to be a field agent and hope that, someday, my dad figures out how to remove the Intersect without causing brain damage. Or, I move to D.C. for two years and help perfect the Intersect, and train new agents in the meantime. Then they'll give me a job anywhere in the world with the agency."

Sarah was shocked by this news. It wasn't at all what she was expecting. She was expecting some lock-him-under-ground-until-he's-105 or major plastic surgery. The news calmed her, more than his apology had.

"Anywhere in the world?" she asked, dumbfounded.

"Yes," he said. Now he sounded uncomfortable again.

"What is it?" she asked, looking at him.

"Well, I just feel that neither way is very fair to you," he said. "I asked you to marry me before we knew that the Intersect would forever trap me into one way of life. I don't want to trap you into either, and want you to know that I wouldn't blame you or hold it against you if…"

Sarah laughed. She began laughing so hard she thought she might have to pull over again. Her laughter, hearty and loud, completely drowned out Chuck's words. But even though she clutched one arm around her waist and felt a pull in her side from the strain of keeping her eyes on the road and trying to stop laughing, she managed to keep going.

Then Chuck smiled like he hadn't done for weeks; a wide smile that took up his whole face, stretching his skin so far on each side she could see his teeth. And as he stared at her and she felt his eyes on him, the only eyes that had really looked at her and seen the person she wanted everyone to see, she knew that _he _was home. His words of worry about her future with him were so absurd to her that it forced her into another fit of giggles.

"Are you all right?" he asked, unable to wipe the smile plastered over his face. "Do you need to pull over?"

"Chuck," she said, wiping tears from her eyes. "It's just… it's so funny. Not you, of course," she said, catching a look in his eye that he might've thought she was laughing _at_ him. She smiled broadly. "Our life together, it isn't about what we _do_ or where we _go_, damn, it's not even about how we get there. It's only about you and me. It might've taken me a little longer than you to realize what that really means, but Chuck, _you_ are more important that any mission, any job, or any location in the world. I have no ties to anyone but you. Do you know that?" She looked over at him, and he only stared at her. "I mean, do you _really_know that?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I do."

"I'll admit, there were times after you downloaded the second Intersect that I thought we were going to have a hard, maybe even impossible, time making our relationship work," she said. "But as we hit each hurdle, even though they became harder, _we_became easier. It was the only real and tangible thing we had to hold onto for a while. And that's all life will ever be. Circumstances that keep getting harder and keep getting in our way, but family is what matters. If we're not tied to someone, where do we tether ourselves to? What kind of grounding do we have?"

Chuck shrugged. "None, I guess."

"Right," she said. Then she looked at him fiercely. "But you have a piece of it wrong too, you know."

"What?" he said, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"I don't define your worth by your job," she said, bringing her voice down significantly. "I never, ever have, and never, ever will. Don't you remember what I told you at Harlington? About when I first fell in love with you?"

Chuck's eyes drifted off and he seemed to be thinking back to the summer when they'd been together at Harlington.

"I said that I fell in love with you somewhere between when you fixed my phone and diffused a bomb with a computer virus," she said. "_Between_. You do so many things every day that make me love you, but I have never just loved you because you did one of them. I'm in love with every piece of you, Chuck."

Without missing a beat, he responded, unequivocally. "I am in love with every piece of you, too."

She leaned over and cupped her hand around the back of his neck. "That is very good news, my little baggage handler."

Chuck laughed aloud and grabbed her hand, holding it between both of his. "So… Agent Walker. When _are _you going to marry me?"

* * *

**THE END**


End file.
